


The Living Sea of Waking Dreams

by calliopes_pen



Category: Dracula (TV 1968)
Genre: Blood, Dabbling In The Black Arts, F/F, F/M, Fog, Friendship, Gothic, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan takes a tumble for Mina, M/M, Mind Control, Nightmares, Possession, Post-Canon, So much for that hot tea and a blanket, Vampire Bites, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calliopes_pen/pseuds/calliopes_pen
Summary: The Count has been defeated, but all is not as it should be. In the wake of their presumed victory, Mina Harker stands at a crossroads.  She finds herself torn between one world and the next; the living and the undead. She is dragged ever further from the light with every breath she takes. In the fallout, the ripples of her eventual choice will change those she holds dearest to her heart most of all.
Relationships: John Seward/Jonathan Harker, John Seward/Lucy Weston, Jonathan Harker/Mina Harker, Lucy Weston/Jonathan Harker, Mina Harker/John Seward, Mina Harker/Lucy Weston
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisbluespirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/gifts).



> This was the prompt that caused all of this to happen: “post-canon - Mina has to work a way free, preferably with bonus John/Mina (bonding over the loss of Lucy) and hurt/comfort. Or she doesn't get free and does get to seduce/bite John and...? I love Mina's determination and strength & would like to see her get to use it more.”
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

With the arrival of a new day, nature had taken charge. The pious; the natural; the just; the protectors of the vulnerable were victorious. Nature had looked coolly down upon the Count with disgust; with judgement, and found him to be a contagion that must be torn loose and blotted out from the world. He was a blight that must be cast aside as swiftly as he had enthralled Jonathan Harker and bound him in servitude. 

The holiness of the cross was amplified by sunlight. Count Dracula perished even as he transmuted from undead to dead; flesh to decomposing putrescence; to bone, and, finally, to ash. The gentlest of breezes took charge of things from there, and stirred the remains further.

When a vampire was, at last, defeated by the harsh light of day, one might think that all of those enamoured by its will would shake loose from their bonds and practically crow with joy. They would be only half right. Not everyone would return to what they previously were. Not everyone made it through these events unscathed. 

Mina Harker had found herself wrapped in shadows she had not desired to conjure. She felt as though she was waking from a dream in which she should not depart. It was too fitting. It was too becoming of her, and had changed her in ways that she had grown to have a particular fondness for. Even with the burning of the cross on her brow, she had begun to eagerly love it at the last.

Guided by Jonathan as he leapt over headstones and marvelled at his Master, Mina had found herself reaching ecstatically for the Count. She didn’t mind that Jonathan had carried her ever closer to the man. She had wanted a taste of shadows sampled first by Lucy’s touch. Surely he could usher her into that glorious night time realm and make her a new woman. The process had begun with Lucy’s tender caresses. Surely, it must continue; she felt that she had seen the same craving in the Count’s eyes.

She glanced upwards. Motes of dust drifted acrobatically through the morning air. It must be that Count Dracula’s regal ashes, now stirred, were blowing away from the gentle force of a morning breeze. They were drifting off to the four corners of the graveyard, at least, if not the globe. Having mingled with the dirt of a graveyard and become indistinguishable from it, he must now be out of reach of resurrection.

On this morning, the vampire was defeated, and Mina consciously took stock of what she and her husband had become. The Count had been slain by the actions of Dr John Seward and Professor Van Helsing as Mina had watched, spellbound. She was unable to find words for the process that had annihilated the creature.

At the end, she had managed to stifle the unnatural urge towards an outcry of threats or at least curses towards the Professor as he cornered the elder vampire and ignored his temptations. He hadn't listened to, indeed, outright dismissed, the Count's pleas.

What sort of person didn’t listen when one begged for mercy? No; she shook her head. It wasn’t her impulse. She mustn’t speak like that to them, not at this early morning hour or ever. Yes, their actions were meant to free them. What if one did not desire such? Would her musings, and her thoughts cause them to shun or harm her? She resolved that she would not speak of her roiling emotions.

It felt as though she might be guided by a dark hand, and so she wondered if the Count could provide so much. Did he linger still? Did he touch her? Had his insidious fingers seductively trailed down the vulnerability within her soul from beyond, and inflamed it further? Was such a thing even possible when the defeat was so great, and the action so final?

She felt no more than that which had been revealed. She shook her head, deciding it was the events making her fret so. She was not entirely changed from what she had been. And so, she sought to aid the one whose soul was injured the most from calamities she could scarcely conceive.

Jonathan was lost in himself for the moment, however; fractured; shaking. Mina perceived that she must look much the same, for she was in little to defend herself from the cold; she had no shoes, and was wearing the thinnest of gowns. She had been drawn to embrace the Count, and still felt she would have done so gladly were the three of them not prevented from running away to another place, another land. Mina touched her throat, appalled when the mark did not feel so raw; so new; the tickle of it was giving way to a sensation of healing.

Appearances could be deceiving, Mina knew, as she reached to rub Jonathan’s shoulder. His attire was rumpled; his white hair, wild and dishevelled; he appeared to be a madman, yet was restored. Mina appeared well to the outsider, she trusted, as Seward glanced her way with a timid smile. He was quickly pulled back into discussion with the Professor. She looked like the demure and devoted wife who had waited so long for the prodigal husband. She hoped the greater portion of her was. Perhaps she would endanger others; she could not say just yet.

Jonathan moaned quietly in fear, a soul released from torment unknowable; the sound drew her to his aid, only briefly deterring her from the singular purpose beginning to stir within her mind. Mina took his hand; quietly, murmuring nonsense words and phrases to soothe him, she began to guide him to the path that would eventually lead from the graveyard to the cobblestone road.

Seward stepped over to Mina's side and quietly began to remove his coat. He also seemed to silently check her over just to be assured that she wouldn’t collapse from nervous exhaustion or some other malady, physical or mental.

"Thank you. Dr John Seward, ever the gallant gentleman," Mina noted with kindness. It was not mocking; it was merely an observation on her part. She was truly grateful for the thought to shield her from the elements. Her eyes shifted, alighting briefly upon his unassuming throat. He didn't notice her temptation; his touch was gentle as the coat was wrapped around her, before he stepped away to confer with the Professor.

Oh, how _would_ he taste? Greed that should have melted away almost overcame her. Mina's thoughts fluttered away from there; she resisted. She breathed deeply. Then, Mina studied Jonathan; she was fraught with concern for the man. He had been so very quiet; he had been mute since the Count's defeat. She sensed he was seeking to process what happened. She was pulled from this contemplation as her eyes were drawn to something that glinted upon the ground.

Jonathan was too confused, and in too much turmoil to pay attention to her actions. She knelt, and made as though to fix the hem of her gown; instead, she scooped up the ring. She rose, holding it covered surreptitiously, as though it were a delicate flower that must be safeguarded. It shouldn’t be soiled by anything. Gently, Mina brushed it off.

This did not deserve the filth of a graveyard. It should not be among the dead, or the unknowing; the undeserving. It should be on someone’s hand; it should be upon one who deserved to wield its might.

She cast a mildly covetous look towards John, even as he adjusted a scarf that had fallen loose. She bit back her sigh of disappointment, for his neck would be covered once more. Instead of going towards him, Mina cautiously slid the ring into the breast pocket of the borrowed coat. Her face bore a momentary flash of something other; something that was not her, before she became shrouded in secrecy once more.

Change was in the air. She would choose her path with this much later. There was more to see to, and coming events would unfold as they may. Mina began to pull her husband along and soothe him further; a comforting hand moved to his back, but he sagged as though his strength was at an end.

Her attention was drawn to a quivering sensation beneath her palm. He was shuddering, and made a small whimper of distress. His face grew pale and clammy, yet she had believed he was physically untouched. Quietly, he collapsed to a nearby bench.

Seemingly overwhelmed by his circumstances, Jonathan's face crumpled. Quietly, he slid from there. He moved to his knees upon the path and covered his face. She went to her own knees beside him, likely dirtying the gown already soiled by graveyard dirt with newfound grass stains. She felt the wetness of morning dew on her arms, and then, finally, his tears. Mina didn’t care about her appearance as Jonathan broke down.

Her husband required consolation. She wrapped her arms around him as tightly as when she had found him in those dreary cells. Then, she began easing him up just enough that he managed to seat himself once more upon the bench. His face was soon buried in her lap. She stroked his wild white hair, and knew his pain just couldn’t be held back. He wasn’t sobbing quite so hard as the moments passed; it seemed to be panic that next presented itself.

“Easy, Jonathan,” Mina soothed as she rubbed his back; he clutched the folds of her gown as though to steady himself. “Easy now. Try to breathe.” Seward neared briefly, and then nodded to confirm she was handling it correctly. It was not volatile by any measure, and so he stepped aside. “Slowly,” she instructed after he mouthed the word to her. While she doubted he would mourn the Count's passing, Mina believed that _she_ did deep down, and that she longed for Lucy even more.

As Jonathan sat up, he wiped his face roughly and tried to take calming breaths. As he finally began to speak, it suddenly struck Mina that he was not in a dovetail of panic, but in shock. The reaction had struck like a dagger to the heart. "Oh, God, those _red eyes_. I was defenceless before them. I--I was his _clay_ ; I was his to sculpt. He crafted me into his creature with but a look. I was trapped in fog; lost in his whims; a slave to his purpose."

He spoke to her of a chase through the castle, leading up to that enslavement; wanton women working their wiles; observing a shipwreck, and, before that, watching the crew dwindling through the Count’s need for blood; seeing through the Count’s eyes at the height of his predatory attentions upon Lucy; the loss of self that went hand-in-hand with his subjugation.

Above all, Jonathan spoke of his love for her, and breaking out of that grip for a moment to cry out for her. He only desired to tell her how much he missed her. Her heart broke for him. He had watched his body act in accordance to another person’s will, in defiance to his moral fibre.

His words were quiet, and halting, even as he ploughed onward; sometimes they stumbled. Certain aspects were rambling, as he explained his warped recollections, and confused impressions, but he was not the least bit mad. His speech came bubbling up as though from a natural spring. It was coherent by the time he concluded. He was free, and his tongue was unbound.

He was free, and she was reunited with the correct soul. Mina tilted his face up when it began to collapse into anxiety at all the months wasted, and, perhaps, further things he had witnessed. When the time was right, he would tell her. She saw eyes that feared. Feared the Count or feared himself, she could not say. She was only glad that fear was not to be directed at her present state. Steadfast determination shone from those eyes as he tried to straighten.

She had thought she would never see that expression of gentleness again; and though she wanted nothing more than to plot, to grow dark black wings and soar aloft against the midnight sky, she must aid in his return to his rightful station in life. She must calm him. Her own eyes finally brimmed with tears as she briefly overcame the darkness smothering her soul’s light; she kissed him. She grounded him, for however short a time.

He responded, his hands and body shaking with emotion, and occasionally a shudder was felt. He needed an abundance of comfort; they both did. He needed familiarity. She pulled back when the passion became a threat to propriety; this was not the place for it. Foreheads against each other, they nodded as both recalled their surroundings. There were tears being forcibly repressed in his eyes, for he wanted to get back to his rightful self, just as much as she desired it. She could see that.

“You...are my sanctuary, when everything falls apart around me,” Jonathan whispered shakily. He didn’t want to break the moment and move apart from her. He desired his best friend; his lover; his wife to just be at his side. He couldn’t be alone any longer. He felt as though he wasn’t making sense with a bit of his talk. He was just relieved to be himself, and to be with her.

He struggled not to fall into further maudlin platitudes that could not hope to explain the scope of his dedication. He leant in for one more kiss; just one more, thankful when he was not denied. “I was so lost, and blind to all but him,” Jonathan managed when they broke loose again.

Mina’s thumb brushed away one tear that was mutinous enough to again fall from red ringed eyes. “Yes, but now you are found. The night is over, and the day is here. You are _safe_. You are my husband again,” she whispered fiercely into his ear. She also realised more. There were many changes underway within her. While sunlight felt like it was too bright to her eyes, her skin did not burn. It could be tolerated. She would not provoke suspicion.

At the mildest of flinches, there was concern in Jonathan’s eyes. Then, he nodded as if to say that he knew his actions had brought this to their door. She directed his gaze to the object in her hand; a sharp piece of stone had merely jabbed her. He looked relieved. Jonathan stroked her cheek. Mina heard his heart hammering a steady beat, before it gradually began to calm. She could hear it even without her head against his chest; this ability, this need, wasn’t going to fade.

She recalled the burn of the cross upon her brow. Her fingers shook in remembered pain as she touched that place; the raw area that should have scarred was gone. There was a disappointment there at the lack. What was left that would be considered unnatural? What could warn others away from her? These newfound proclivities were not so apparent as a mark. She didn’t know what to do. For the space it took to breathe, Mina was uncertain what she could even tell Jonathan.

Jonathan swallowed, taking stock of his next question. He studied her face; her posture. He trusted that he still understood her motivation and her feelings; she had known his soul even when he was too lost to care. “Are you...well?” His words were soft, his love apparent. It never wavered. From where she touched, he surmised what she was looking for. Even if it had remained, he would have found her beautiful.

“Yes,” she lied, not wanting to scare him. He had suffered through so much. She wouldn’t burden him further. “Of course I am, if you are returned.” She gave him a soft smile. She sighed, half in relief at him, and in confusion for herself, and her senses. Every blade of grass was thrown into stark clarity. She resisted counting their number, but knew she could differentiate; she could see each mar, each imperfection. She did not reel as her senses changed. It was the way it was meant to be done, after all. She only wondered if this was how Lucy had seen the world.

How much more _lush_ must the world seem without a light to lead the way? How much more exquisite was it? How much mightier would it become? If Lucy had seen even a fraction in this manner, she could understand both her joy, as well as her eagerness to share this with her bosom friend.

Lucy had been sensual in a way that Mina had never felt before in this lifetime. She was her childhood friend, whom had always managed to scandalise her at play; somehow, she had become her temptress. Mina managed not to look too distracted at the thoughts or her senses blooming, but only just. A morning bird sang a song, breaking into her contemplation; she briefly closed her eyes. It was piercing for her altered hearing.

Mina prided herself on not being obvious in her discomfort. Her eyes met Jonathan’s again. She couldn’t say if he had seen through her attempt at composure, but she supposed he hadn’t. He would have put further questions to her otherwise. They appeared to have both calmed themselves, so much as they could. “Shall we rise, and see to them? The others are waiting for us,” Mina softly enquired. They _were_ all that detained them.

“I trust we shall,” Jonathan candidly replied. They were still entwined around each other, yet not entangled enough that either would cause an ungainly spill should the other party move aside. They aided each other in standing. They must make haste and show the men that they were as well as could be expected. He stared into Mina’s eyes a moment longer. Together, they stepped away from the bench where bitter memories must forever reside.

Jonathan peered further down the path as movement caught his attention. Seward urged them on, a sympathetic bent to his stance. He had not moved ahead, contrary to his expectations. Just beyond him, a carriage had seemingly been hired. Jonathan took a breath; he sensed Mina waiting for him.

Perhaps she was even wondering if he would require assistance. He shook his head to convey that he did not. He smiled, when they each tugged the other’s hand urgently. They were united in purpose as they moved together to catch up with the men. Van Helsing had disappeared inside the vehicle already.

Jonathan put a hand on her shoulder, and smiled to her ruefully. Together, they contemplated her bare feet. He did not wish for her to hurt herself on the sharp edge of the step. Despite not being at the peak of health, he managed to lift her part of the way inside. She managed the rest herself. She reached down to stroke his cheek.

Silently, he held up a hand and gestured, to let her know he would not be parted from her company for longer than a few minutes. He glanced back to Seward. “Might I bend your ear for but a moment, sir?” Jonathan implored.

Seward acknowledged it was allowed; he wondered if something further simmered beneath the surface. Had they missed something? He had witnessed Jonathan’s temporary collapse and hoped more was not forthcoming. It would be cruel of the universe to allow Jonathan his mind back only for it to snap under the strain. “Is something the matter?”

Jonathan shook his head. “I should like to shake your hand, Dr Seward. You might have thrown me to the wayside with the refuse, and left me to rot, but...you didn’t.” While he was uncertain as to how to proceed, or what would become of him after they left this place, he was not timid.

He tried to speak plainly. “You were kind to me, even when I was painfully uncouth and violent. Even when I must have disgusted you with my antics...most of which are hidden from me right now. I’m very thankful for all that you have done to save me from what you likely thought was my own broken self at the start.” He recalled that, even if large swathes were hazy. He extended his hand.

Seward clasped it. He saw relief and gratification at the acceptance of him, and couldn’t help a smile. Yes, Jonathan _had been_ a hopeless case. Everything he had seen in Thirty-Four appeared to have been erased. He didn’t perceive the desperation or mania of the Count’s servant. Jonathan was a new man; a calmer man. “Of course,” he assured him. “Whatever you require, Jonathan, you must let me know. My door is always open. You know my schedule by heart.” He had escaped often enough that he had better.

Jonathan bowed his head; he didn’t want to keep everyone waiting, but it was difficult. He had arrived at a realisation, and felt it best to confess to the man that was, technically, currently his gaoler. “The consumption of spiders; flies...you termed it zoophagus, did you not?” He waited for a wary nod. “I no longer desire such fare, sir. The need for lives fled as assuredly as his livelihood! I felt I should keep that under my hat and relish it in private...but...I wanted you to hear me say it first.”

The words were said quickly. It was evident that it revolted him to even ponder what he had devoured, much less give it voice. “I felt that you should know,” he firmly reiterated. The look in Seward's eyes spoke volumes; it appeared that he was proud of him for that admission.

“That is excellent news to hear. It is a marvellous first step.” Seward praised. With everything assailing them, he had wondered if that would be torn loose from the man. “The Count’s influence never allowed us proper introductions, did it? You were practically thrown to me straight from that shipwreck.”

“We can start over? My recollection of our first meeting is so disjointed.” Jonathan nervously wondered after a short-lived meditation on the subject. He recalled it in spurts of thrashing and demands; there came flashes of doing violence to a wall in hospital prior to his sedation, before straps were introduced to his wrists. And then a straitjacket was implemented when he tore loose from those flimsier restraints.

Starting over was something he hoped for. The enquiry rapidly became a request. He respected this man more than words could say. He should like to become his friend, even if he must be his patient for an unknown duration of time.

“I would like that. I should like to get to know you in the coming days,” Seward agreed. It was a good idea. A brilliant smile flashed his way. It made the solicitor much more handsome; much more vibrant than in his illness. He had never seen such on the other man, and understood a fraction of Mina’s dedication to him. When something of a similar calibre was there previously, it was twisted by the servant’s peculiarities, and that pitiable sorrow. That creature’s vile needs had ruled him. He trusted they would never do so again, as the cause was extracted.

“We’ll get you back on your proper course,” Seward assured him, then. “First and foremost, we need you to get your strength back. When you do try to eat, take it slowly with what you attempt; don’t start with a celebratory feast,” he advised him with some humour. He had spotted the man’s exhaustion; he must require rest, as well as something nutritious.

“I shall do my best so that I do not make myself ill, or cause further misery for my loved ones to clean up, Dr Seward,” Jonathan promised as he clambered into the carriage. He was eager to recover; he was fighting the urge to sleep. As he took his seat, he smiled to Mina to let her know that nothing was wrong.

Seward glanced up at the driver. Mr Smollet had seen activity as he passed them on the back roads. He had not seen the Count’s death, but the aftermath. He had recognised Seward as everyone milled about, and pulled up with care. Smollet had wondered if they were stranded, and so the Professor had enlisted him.

A small fee was easy enough to arrange as thanks for ferrying them about. Seward was appreciative, as such would allow for the last piece of his own likely welcome plot to slide into place. He ducked inside. Once everyone was seated safely within the confines of the carriage, Seward moved to give a signal to the driver.

A quick thump on the roof, and they were off. Jonathan presumed he would get to sleep in his cell. He shouldn’t think of it as home. Not now, and not ever. What he had been would have termed it so. He reflected on what the reactions of the attendants would be when he suddenly reappeared. Were they currently searching for him across the grounds? Was he in trouble? He anxiously wondered. And then, he took note of the concern in Mina’s eyes; she peeked out the window and grew serious. “What is it?” He murmured.

As the carriage turned onto another cobblestone road that was used more often by pedestrians, Mina glanced over to Seward. She was confused by their direction. “Why a carriage?” She murmured to herself, and then in Jonathan’s ear. His eyes widened. It had suddenly struck Mina that this might be an inappropriate use of their time.

Yes, she was exhausted, but that was certainly no cause for such extraordinary measures to be taken. They were not so far from the asylum. It was but a brisk walk, as she and Jonathan had proven. There were not so many streets between there and the graveyard. “Are we not returning to the asylum?”

Seward shook his head with a mysterious smile. With a growing curiosity, Jonathan moved forward. Mina was right. He, too, now presumed that the change in direction must have some hidden meaning, but he could not say what it was. This was the opposite way than they ought to be driving. He waited for someone to elaborate, for he hated surprises. Suddenly being surprised by three horrid women got him into this mess in the first place!

“Under the circumstances, no,” Seward candidly began. He reached over to pat Jonathan’s knee, when he saw his fretful state. There was no cause to get excited until he heard the news. “We are not going there. I think, Jonathan, you must fit in best at Weston House. Isn’t there room?” He made his words sound the very definition of innocence.

“Of _course_ there is room, John,” Mina enthused with wonder. She had been in the process of making certain the pocket with the ring was undisturbed, even as she tightened the coat around her. She ceased to do so, looking closely at his expression. She realised what he was implying. While she was presently housed in a guest room, her dear friend’s room sat vacant. If that location was ill-advised, she could learn which of two others was appropriate. “I will consult with Mrs Perkins!” Mrs Weston shouldn’t deny lodgings to her husband once she witnessed the changes in him.

Knowing she, at least, had already surmised what was afoot, Seward continued. He could see Jonathan was hanging on his every word, stunned speechless as it sank in. He had already informed Seward of his lack of zoophagy. That was one more point in his favour. “You are not mad, Jonathan. Your behaviour originated from an outside source; when it was defeated, you became yourself.” Such a feat must assuredly be rare in the annals of psychiatry.

Seward gestured to Van Helsing, who inclined his head. They had spoken as the couple had recovered. “The Professor and I am assured of that. Your every reaction since then has been categorically and unequivocally rational in response to what I can only describe as extraordinary circumstances.”

If anyone inquired as to Jonathan's whereabouts, Seward could simply explain that he had made a remarkable recovery, and it would not be a fabrication. Seward only needed to fill out a bit of paperwork, and put the man’s proper name across it this time. He was still listed under the alias of Thirty-Four, for it had been a while since he had updated it.

Upon the realisation that he was not going to be locked away for even a short period, Mina saw Jonathan’s relief. The magnificently joyful smile which followed was a beautiful sight to behold. It was so intense that it took her breath away. She hadn’t seen that look in his eyes since the day he had both passed his exams, and she had, in turn, accepted his proposal of marriage. She kissed his cheek, pleased for him.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stay with her. I am forever in your debt,” Jonathan murmured. He couldn’t say why that was, aside from particular impressions of his behaviours when not himself. He never wanted to be apart from her again. With a much more uncertain smile, he turned to examine Professor Van Helsing. He scarcely knew what to say to the studious fellow. He didn’t know if he would be in good standing with him or not.

“We should have proper introductions, you and I, sir,” Jonathan mused softly. He was nervous before those eyes which had managed mesmerism upon him on multiple occasions. “While I am of a sane persuasion, and you have yet to part from my company, I should like to shake the hand of the man with an even greater part in freeing me. You managed to find my true self in moments; you found me in seconds of short duration. Even if we are not to start over, I find I must declare your association to be one of the best. I am glad to know you, and thankful for your aid.”

Jonathan shifted closer so that he could reach over. It felt ridiculous; he was almost bashful about the very idea, once the action was begun. Seward had made him feel much more comfortable in their interactions. However, the Professor reciprocated with a firm shake, seeming to be more amused by the attempt at good manners than anything else.

As the carriage trundled on, Mina dared to put forth a question to the Professor. She did her best to contain any accusatory feelings; she wouldn’t let him see that she still contained a grain of vampirism lodged in her soul. It wasn’t as though she had fangs; she could easily pass as normal.

She selected her words carefully, weighing them before she spoke. “How did you find us? How did you know of his weaknesses?” Surely he had not encountered more of those creatures, or Lucy would not have died even once, much less twice.

“We followed Jonathan, as I suspected he would be urged to collect you. Dracula called his own,” Van Helsing admitted. “I pursued the theory that all would be drawn together at the last, so that he could add to his flock. You would be fully refashioned into one of their number if we had failed.”

Jonathan listened, uncertainty in his eyes; he would take solace from the fact that he was already informed he was freed from the asylum. There were to be no straitjackets forced upon him from this day forth. “I’m not certain I wish all the secrets of something so beastly to return...but I recall his will resonating through my very being, and a barred door opening of its own accord. I felt I must cavort.”

“That was tonight, the last night he was to walk upon the earth; where the hunt began, so to speak,” Seward agreed with a sigh. “Or—continued, rather.” The exhaustion and grief were evident in his eyes. He looked to Mina. “Lucy is at peace...nobody thought to tell you. Someone should have.”

Mina was dubious of that fact, but her eyes shone with sympathy. It was an awkward movement, though she did manage with the swaying of the carriage to first rise, and then stretch across the aisle and rub his arm in consolation without disaster. He must hurt as badly, if not worse, than she did. There was empathy there for him, just as with Jonathan.

She couldn’t be entirely lost if she felt that. Seward took her hand and held it; he patted it, almost reluctant to let go. Van Helsing took up the space beside him, or she might have sat there. Mina sighed, as she returned to her previous place at Jonathan’s side, and settled back again. “Jonathan implied she was not among us any longer, John. I—I knew. That which had settled upon his heart and soul did not have cause to lie.”

Mina knew that John had been drawn into this saga quite unwittingly. He loved their Lucy, for she had been his fiancée. Whatever their problems, there had been that. He had provided the precious woman with his blood in an effort to save her, though it was not enough. Mina had seen how he had almost fainted in this last skirmish. He _could not_ have acted to plunge a stake into Lucy’s heart. He would have surely broken, given the look of his eyes in this hour. It must have been the Professor.

Jonathan’s eyes widened as the words drifted up from a confused morass. It was clearer, having come so close to the end. He had seen the pain in their eyes, and now felt burdened by guilt for his part in this dreadful aspect of matters. “It was cruel to speak in that manner, when you thought I was leading you to her! Can you ever forgive me?” He had been made into such a fiend! Even as he spoke, he supposed that he knew the answer; there had been such love when he collapsed back there, that the answer was as simple as it was elegant.

“Forgiven; consider it forgotten,” Mina urged him softly. He was clearly agitated by the idea of sordid implications, just as when she had held him. It was never something that should be forgiven for. He was not himself at that time. “Your voice was no longer yours.”

“You didn't have a will of your own; you were not in control of your thoughts or your actions,” Van Helsing pointed out almost dismissively. To him, that subject was closed when the Count was slain. He glanced back to Mina. His eyes shone with the interest of a scholar that had proven his theory sound. “I see the burn of the cross is gone,” he noted, pleased.

Mina stroked the place a second time, and nodded. The relief in her eyes was calculated for his benefit. “It ceased to pain me; yes, I suspected but had yet to access a mirror. As Jonathan stated, we are forever in your debt.” More than that, she would not reveal to him, for she did not trust him. “Did you study him? The Count, I should clarify; I know you studied my husband closely, in order to untangle it all.”

Van Helsing shook his head. As she put questions to him, his suspicions that all was not as it seemed began to depart. She was curious. He could see that she needed to know what had been happening around her, while she was kept in the dark. “I have several volumes that discuss the vampire, and the multitude of their legends, but did not seriously pursue this field of study until these past few nights.” He paused uncomfortably. “I agree with John that leaving you uninformed only drew further grief. You may have been protected otherwise.”

“It is too late to think of such,” Mina managed, dropping a palpable sorrow into her tone. Then, she allowed curiosity to shine from her eyes. Should she behave as a willing student, perhaps she could gain more knowledge. She suspected this would be the way into his good graces until his departure. “I should like to see the one that reveals his nature, yes. Perhaps...perhaps it can soothe any dreams making preparations to strike.” Jonathan took her hand, kissing it.

“I should like to understand what possessed me in the castle, so I feel I must request the same,” Jonathan agreed. “Would it not be considered such? And...there is a memory I recalled back there as I broke free. Was there a time in which he...spoke of triumph, with my lips? My rightful mind felt as though it had been further infested in that hour in—the cell, I believe, as well as oppressed entirely.”

“In the cells, yes,” Seward assured him. “Right before we...we found Lucy at her...end, fanged and splayed across the bed.” He swallowed and pondered his words. Dead. She was _dead_. He could say that in front of them. It wasn’t an oath to be hidden from polite company. “Don’t ever think you were at fault for anything you recall in the future, Jonathan. Your will was not your own, just as the Professor previously said. Just as Mina has forgiven.”

Jonathan was doubtful for an instant, before he turned back to Mina. She shared a soft look with him that spoke of comfort yet to come. He settled against the seat; he gently tugged her to bring her closer, so that he might hold her. Her head soon lay against his chest, as everyone briefly fell into a companionable silence.

Seward glanced out the curtained window with concern as the sound of hoof beats slowed noticeably. As everyone turned their attention to him, he explained nature’s present status. "Conditions are not so favourable as they were when we trounced him," he informed them.

He opened it further so that everyone might have a better view, or lack thereof. Indeed, a haze of white was before them on this particular country road. "A fog is rolling in. Watch your step if you're able when we reach Weston House, everyone."

Mina felt Jonathan’s shiver of disgust at the news. The ride back to Weston House grew ever slower, as the fog thickened and settled over the land. The Count’s death would seem to be the last ray of sunlight to be seen for a while today, as the mild annoyance of such a standard type of climate within Whitby returned. It was just another drawback of living near the sea.

fter what should have been a familiar turn, there was a recognisable sound of muffled voices; one from above, their driver; the other, someone just ahead. Mina wondered if they had almost become embroiled in a collision, but no. It seemed that Smollet merely desired to confirm the correct address when he could barely see. The carriage ceased to move. A thump from above was their sign they had made it to their destination. Jonathan squeezed her hand.

The fog had thinned just enough on their avenue that objects and their outlines were visible. The light of the house shone through as the mist gently swirled onward and lingered. Mina was helped out first by both the driver and, then, Jonathan, lest she step wrong and twist her bare ankle in her present state. As the rest of their number exited the carriage with care, the driver showed the path to go that might be safest.

Mina shivered in the dim light; the damp was cloying, and made her gown stick to her. It was almost as though the mist bore some supernatural purpose and desired to cause a ghostly scene; she couldn’t help but feel that it would be a suitable atmosphere for a penny dreadful given current events. A maid peered out at them, and urged them onward. A lantern at her side aided them further.

“Welcome home, Jonathan,” Mina whispered to her nervous husband. Her voice betrayed her, veritably crackling with emotion as they stepped towards the entrance.


	2. Chapter 2

Three months of subtle activity had not afforded Mina as much peace of mind as she had hoped it would. While she had resolved not to speak of her painstaking transformation, she also had not quite sped it along; she had done particular things, but had yet to strike and take what she was coming to consider her rightful place. She was between two worlds. The yearnings had increased, much as she had expected they would. The need to perform ungodly acts had increased exponentially.

She had found that the hours of night became luxurious if she didn’t fight. Everything opened up to her. She no longer tired when daylight waned. She lay awake and watched the blackness, and detected forms and shapes she never had prior to being bitten. She smiled, once, when a bat chose to hang from the sill outside. She could not hide from her changes in her dreams. On occasion, these were so fantastical as to leave her breathless upon awakening.

While this latest nap was not a peaceful slumber, it was not rapturous either. Mina tossed and turned, trapped in the grip of a nightmare. Her gradual changes made her think strange things, of course; that was merely amplified when she closed her eyes. The dreaming state told of things that might have been, and never were. It spoke of what may yet come to pass. It spoke clearly of that which should never be, loudest of all.

The more human part of her mind cowered as vile scenes slid across her thoughts. Nightmares conjured from the netherworld slithered through her veins, causing terror to seep into her bones. Terror, as well as a dark joy mingled and grew until neither could be separated from the other.

She became haunted by incandescent red eyes; the matters she understood were only pieces of a greater fabric. They were both her eyes, as well as someone greater. Someone mightier. She wondered if they belonged to the Count, guiding her from another realm; a place more fiery than mortals should wish to dwell. Jonathan’s blood was dripping from her lips, before reality twisted again and the Count was speaking to her. He was too far away to be fully understood; the language was not her own.

Until, at last, the dialect became English. The vocalisations were not so harsh. The elect must be forever on their guard. It looped back into the beginning; she bowed to him, knowing this piece of wisdom from before quite well. She followed it to the letter in the waking world. Further words, in unknown languages began to coalesce in her mind; she was mired down in the feeling that it caused suffering to look upon them. She covered her face, denying the unholiness of them. There was the sensation she must look, or she would never be free.

She was encouraged to do so, whatever the cost. Mina came to some indefinable part of herself, and waded through the fear. She embraced the desire in its entirety. She looked upon those horrors of a bygone age, and sought to quell the final pieces shuddering within her soul. There was no going back, of course. She gladly listened to those instructions. Words that were, perhaps, more ancient than the Count passed and swirled all around her.

They were filled with an old energy. The extent of which was seemingly crackling about her as they were heard, filling her with untold possibilities. It felt like lightning; like fire; like rebirth. There was a task yet to be performed, which she had taken the first steps to implement already. When she could handle no more, she felt as though she was going to die. She wanted to beg for mercy, but would not have been heard over the force of gale strength winds that were swirling around her.

And then, she saw Lucy, but not as she had been. No, she saw a Lucy who thrived in her mortality; her rosy cheeks were declaring her good health for all to see. However, she was lost in a maze of fog, and unable to reach sanctuary. She was lost between worlds, and seeking succour. She could see her best friend’s pale face, red lips open in never ending screams for mercy; for assistance; for _her_.

Mina stretched out her hand to aid her, trying to call out to her; her voice was lost in the chaos. It was muffled by all the noise which had suddenly sprung up.

She tried to grip Lucy’s wrist; she tried to pull her free from uncertain peril. She reached with all her strength; she gained ground, but even as a form was brought into her arms, it was gone. Mina stared at her palms, even as a mysterious smoke was drifting away. She was frightened; confused. What did this mean? One friend was lost to her. Her thoughts turned to another love, who was more substantial. He, at least, was still alive.

“Jonathan,” Mina shouted in anguish. She was mistaken in her presumption. Her mind became mired down in the vision of earlier; it was so muddied and uncertain previously, but now it was a prism of horror. She saw that it was a setting in their home; there was her Jonathan. There was a single bite upon his throat; there was no safety within this abode. She knelt and shook him. He had been felled, and was lying in a pitifully small pool of blood when she turned him over.

It had not yet occurred, had it? She did not feel she had changed so much. She stroked his cheeks; she closed his sightless eyes. This was merely her future. She had no fangs to do such a thing to him, and she told herself she never would.

And yet, something told her she might, once her fangs sprouted. She just might turn to the one she loved the most for sustenance. She wanted to hold him to herself, and protect him from coming events. The blood stained everything. It was on her clothes; her hands; her face, even before she moved to cling to him. She stared at it, wondering how she could get it off.

Mina’s eyes flew open even as a cry was dying upon her lips; the last of it faded from her ears. The myriad shaking images still taunted her in her mind’s eye. She realised she had indeed shouted to summon her husband. Or, if not him, anyone that could aid her.

She gulped down a shuddering breath, struggling to calm herself. Nobody was hurt; she was in safety. Even without more light than the scant amount provided from the edges of the curtain, and that which seeped beneath the door, she could sense the veracity of that statement. She lay there a moment more, forcing the thought of a calamity not truly of her making to part from her mind.

It felt like her heart wanted to leap out through her mouth. She began to move, only for her eyes to widen; at first, she believed something was pulling at her. Haunting images from her dream reasserted themselves, and filled her with further dread. She stretched out a quaking hand, and found she was merely tangled within the sweat dampened sheets.

She sighed, somewhat relieved. There was no monster here, save for that which she knew she was becoming. The process had begun the night she was bitten, and would run its course. Mina shivered, and wondered if it was despite the hour. A swift glance at the grandfather clock, its chimes long since removed to spare everyone the noise, informed her it was late afternoon.

Mina wiped away an errant tear, summoned by her distress. In that dream, all she grasped was ephemeral. In the waking world, she had failed to save her friend, as well as her husband when the Count had claimed them. Lucy had been struck down. She would keep him safe. “Tonight,” she whispered in wonder as the realised the date. It was three months to the day of her friend being slain by the 'good' Professor.

She smiled to herself. The dream was a sign that would spur her into action. In the last two weeks, she had felt as though a new time was approaching. She was becoming darker in her thoughts than even previously; they felt right. They brought her peace. She found herself ready for the blackness, save for one thing. She didn’t want to step away without her husband. She had only been reunited with him for three months.

She disentangled herself from the linen at last. She found a warmer duvet, and wrapped it around her shoulders; she calmed herself with the mundane simplicity of the act. She moved to sit again at the side of the bed, and contemplate her next move. Desires stirred further; if she closed her eyes, those expanded senses would stretch out and find amazing sounds. That aspect had only increased.

Mrs Weston’s failing heart; Jonathan, opening a closet door and shuffling about; carriage wheels turning on the next street, bumping over the cobblestone. A woman next door beat a broom against a blanket to dust it. Further still, she could smell blood freshly spilt in an alleyway. A wandering soul’s time was rapidly ending.

Footsteps were approaching her room; she opened her eyes, waiting as the door was pulled open. An impossible fear stemming from her dream briefly made her expect the Count; however, she knew those footsteps by now. It was merely Jonathan. She sent a fond smile his way, lost in the darkness at first. He was tiptoeing in with but the light of a candle to guide him. He was seeing to her welfare.

He turned up the gas and sat the candle on her bureau. Oh, how she hated to put that wrinkle of worry upon his brow. For but a moment, she turned away to collect herself. He moved to sit beside her, once she wordlessly patted the empty space beside her. “Did you have another dream?” she wondered as she pulled the blanket closer to herself. She curled her legs beneath her. It was a way to change the topic from hers, feeble at best.

They both had in differing hours, she supposed, though his differed quite strongly from hers. Hers were ruled by what she should become; his were grievous horrors of the past which he had endured while ensnared by the Count. She had not spoken of hers, yet heard of his. More had been drawn from him after the graveyard, and further still after he had settled.

Jonathan quietly looked her over. He could wait forever; he was patient. He knew when she was evading a question not yet asked. “Yes,” she admitted. “ _I_ had a dream. It was none so frightful as the others, but still active.” He would see that much. She wanted to say she dreamt of his death, but held her tongue. That would worry him ever more. “It is forgotten now; fractured, and lost,” she lied after a feigned struggle at recollection.

“You almost slept the day away,” Jonathan noted with concern. “I was planning to enter and wake you, but I heard your cry.”

Was she truly so loud? So desperate? They rose to stand at the same time. Mina placed her hand on his chest, eyes shimmering with pent up emotion. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered, almost brokenly; the dream had left her afraid and in need. He could see that, she found. There was sympathy in his eyes, but not a sign of pity.

And then, unable to stop herself and needing his touch, she stepped into his arms. She kissed him deeply. She felt his arms wrap themselves around her. There was nobody to shock; they were in private, and could do as they would. Nobody would intrude unless they had cause for concern.

There was more to the kiss than just a thankfulness at his worry; it was more than just passion requiring a release. It told a story; it was not quite a goodbye. It was a tale that was yet to be fully concluded. It even, perhaps, bore a warning that she wasn’t certain he would heed. Some shred of her wanted to stay, of course. The greater part, the _growing_ part, wanted to go towards the shadows and take joy in what they made of her.

He responded to the emotion, but finally, reluctantly, was forced to pull away for air. They were both breathing heavily, though that was more out of a need for oxygen. It was a heated embrace, but not the sort that would end with a frenzy of lovemaking. He couldn’t speak for an instant. He only touched his lips, and looked at hers. “What...was that for?” He asked with a small, confused grin.

She nestled against his chest even as his arm wrapped itself around her waist. “There was no true reason, Jonathan,” Mina remarked softly, yet lovingly. She glanced back up, and was astounded by the amount of love in his eyes. It never waned. She must never forget that.

Once he took the time to savour all the emotions in that embrace, he realised something. To Jonathan, it felt like she was afraid. He felt sorrow there at the end. It felt like if he let her out of this room, something would happen to her. While it was almost the same as a goodbye, it was not the same sort as when she kissed him at the train station. She had been there to pick him up in the graveyard when he fell to pieces from horror; he wanted to stand at her side, come what may. He feared she was ill. When she sighed, he stroked her back.

Mina smiled to herself as she listened to the beating of that strong heart. It was tempting. Her desires were growing further out of bounds. She just wanted a taste, but didn’t dare try. Her dream had driven her from his neck; she couldn’t. She didn’t want to hurt Jonathan, even as she found her attempts to resist the pull paltry and fumbling at best. If she closed her eyes, she could see red ones in her mind; it was like her dream. It was imagined; she yearned for a sign.

The dream had provided that. It was her time. Tonight she would change, or she would die. She could feel Death’s scythe reaching for her. It was as simple as that. She must perform something greater with her last act before that change. Gradually, she let go of Jonathan; she put the blanket back on the bed, and straightened it. She began to step out of the room, and felt his hand on her shoulder; she shook her head. He removed it.

It was like an odd little dance between them, she thought with a short-lived amusement. It made her ache. They each understood the other so well that words were not required. She stopped herself, and paused at the threshold for what felt like an eternity. She felt as if she was at the precipice. Would she fall, or would she rise? What was the difference? She looked over her shoulder at Jonathan, and vowed not to stray from her path.

“What’s wrong?” Jonathan asked softly. The look in her eyes was a blending of so many things that it frightened him. It was wild; enticing; loving; hopeful; and, beneath it all, worrying.

He was always so perceptive. Why couldn’t he not notice her mood this once? She was committing him to memory, just in case she fled the whole of Whitby. If she could no longer dwell within these walls, then she desired to memorise his poses; expressions; actions. He touched her cheek, and she leant it against his palm. His hands were so warm. Her body was so chilled and lacking that heat.

Instead of answering, she again shook her head with a small smile meant just for him, and made to step away. She would change the topic. “It isn’t important, Jonathan. Not today.” Her voice when it came again was shaky, before it grew calmer. “We...we can speak of it later tonight instead.” She swallowed as he followed her a step further. They were barely in the hall.

Mina wrapped her arms around herself. If only she could hold fast to the heat of mortality, but it wasn’t to be. The warmth faded even before life, unless she was at his side. “Don’t you recall? Mrs Weston desired us to fetch her laudanum. She takes her last dose tonight.”

Jonathan nodded in thought; he chose to set aside all of his questions. He would broach the topic again tonight. He wouldn’t back down this time. Should she be ill, he would find the best doctors for her. Then, the hour came to him. “Is not the chemist closed?” Worry for her safety began to make itself known. Should she be out?

Mina nodded. Most adhered to similar hours in their town. “This chemist doesn't like to be open quite as late as his constituents. An unsavoury fellow robbed him two years ago. Brooks And Co.?” she prompted him. He nodded, likely recalling its location and tale; he had been there for a sedative once. “However, Graeme knows me. I’ve called on him before for her medicine. If it’s important, he bid me to knock on the sash three times, and he will unlatch the door. He lives in the back.”

“Should you feel it to be too dark and unsettling when the carriage approaches, just let me wait until the morning," he offered. Actually, he pleaded. He could imagine a ruffian taking her unawares, and hated the idea. Then, he frowned in thought, trying to hash something out which didn’t make sense.

“Oh!” Jonathan saw the look in her eyes, as though she were far from the house already, making plans in another time; in another life. It didn't match such a simple errand. A thought had struck him as he felt the expression suitable for mourning; he understood it all. He knew why Mina behaved in such a way. It would explain her mood, would it not? “Oh, my dear, I know your purpose.”

Mina froze and raised a brow. “Yes?” Had he interpreted her malady correctly? Would the Professor’s wrath fall upon her ears? Would she be denied what she sought? Surely he hadn’t. Jonathan would not look so pleased. And, of course, he would have broached the subject of where the ring may have gone.

Jonathan gently brushed back her hair. “It is three months since Lucy passed; it is three months since we were freed.” It was a good reason for one to be maudlin. Perhaps it was not the exact date for the former, but close enough to be a cause. He knew the date of their shared recovery as though it were carved in stone and set ablaze.

It could not be forgotten, given how lost he had been. Perhaps it was the same for her; perhaps she must say goodbye now that the dust had settled. She and Lucy had loved one another so deeply. It had been evident, even before their marriage. Even when he was induced to madness, the sense of their bond had traversed the control.

Jonathan swallowed. “If—if you are in need of her, to visit her, or for there to be a vigil of some kind...I won’t fret. I promise not to do so too much, if you’re gone longer than it takes to visit the chemist alone.” He tried to reassure her with a small smile, feeling as though he hadn’t the words for such a friendship. “You will have something to light your way?”

“A lantern shall guide me,” she whispered near his ear. Mina brushed his palm kindly, and moved to gather her proper attire. Again, he was insightful; however, he misread her purpose, for he was too close to the situation to be true with his aim. She was relieved. Turning away from him, he would not see dark victory flit across her face. Were he facing the mirror, the glass would have given her away. She got a handle on cruel thoughts and desires and things he shouldn’t see in her even as they bubbled up; she tucked them away briefly, before she looked at him again.

She inclined her head to thank him for his kindness, as well as his understanding. She found herself momentarily unable to speak. She also found herself at the brink of hissing when a draught parted the curtain and let the brightness of the sunlight strike her face. Instead, she pursed her lips and kept it inside; she merely squinted outwardly, mildly glaring at the fabric as he closed it again.

Her hand brushed his cheek; he clasped it there, before letting go. “You’re so cold these days; please, do take a heavy cloak. The night air is sure to be crisp.”

“I plan the very thing,” she assured him. She held up her gloves as she found them, and lay them on the bed with the rest of what she planned to put on. “You shan’t be cold due to me or the lateness of the hour, my dear.”

“I’ll be downstairs,” he murmured as he parted from her side. He would summon a coachman, for Mrs Weston had two on her payroll. Mr Smollet was for emergencies, should calamity strike. Mr Morris was for leisurely activities or errands. He would insist it was urgent to the latter if he were required, for one of the ladies of the house was unwell.

Mina supposed that the coldness she exuded partially reminded him of the Count’s touch; she knew she was beginning to think such, as well. Given the closeness to what would pass, it was only natural. Or, perhaps, unnatural, she mused. Once he parted, she changed herself into something more suitable to the grave. She put on the green velvet dress that Lucy had dearly loved to see her wear.

She slid a hat pin into her hair with great care, though she chose to forego a hat. She instead selected a black cloak with a hood. She would be concealed quite well with satin the colour of midnight. It should practically swallow the light whole, allowing nothing gentle to escape.

Perhaps her choice of dress would concern Jonathan; perhaps he would only term it grief. She had more to bring, other than her lantern. She opened her chest of drawers, filled with simple gowns of little consequence. She reached to the back of the top drawer, where a piece of wood stuck out more. She pressed down upon it until she heard a click. Mrs Weston’s home had such surprises. She had found it prior to Lucy’s death, when she was unpacking.

She wondered just how many items were left forgotten by members of the Weston family. How many had passed on, not telling siblings or children of what they tucked aside? Had Lucy left anything? Mina shook her head. Mrs Perkins may know. Whatever the case, Mina slowly and reverently drew forth a pouch from the recesses that contained it.

Nobody would steal it from a place they never knew about, she smiled to herself. She shook the velvet pouch gently, until its contents fell into her palm. Yes; the ring remained intact and untouched. She hadn’t thought it would be, but one never knew. She had guarded the secret with her life. Not just the ring, but two candles, as well as their equally petite holder were back there, now slipped into the large pouch.

There was also something closest to her darkening heart that would join them, which would serve as an offering; however loathe she was to part with it, it would be her sacrifice. The ritual required a personal effect.

Mina’s eyes glittered with tears she would not shed. She would only draw unneeded attention to herself if she started, for she feared she would never stop. She traced a shaking finger down a lock of Lucy’s golden hair. She gently put it within as though it were a living thing, and pulled the drawstring taut. It was so soft. It was a symbol of what was gone.

It had been found pressed between the pages of a scrapbook, which spoke of childhood milestones. Just enough was taken for her purpose; more was left behind for Mrs Weston. She knew how much the widow wanted to hold her child again. She couldn’t take everything away from a mourning mother.

She reached inside the drawer again, meaning to cover the opening. Mina paused as her knuckle bumped something else. Ah, yes. How could she have forgotten this? She knew how; it was the turmoil of her beliefs being shaken from their moorings as she changed little by little. They had become more, and this had fallen by the wayside. It was her palm sized notebook that she withdrew last. She gently touched the cover. She had pencilled in everything required before she could make a move, when she was still entirely uncertain; still naïve; still torn.

The Professor had provided her with several books, just as he had promised; she had only shared one with Jonathan. She had studied further pages in relation to the change, and how the body coped when the process continued unabated. And she had read of how to resurrect the dead, as such had been penned within those pages as well. It had been related to a case of vampirism. Or, rather, she read of cases that had come to a bad end, and sought to go the opposite direction. It was a bestiary of dark creatures.

She even found at least two etchings of the Count, one of him with a woman clasped to him. She imagined her blood mingling with Lucy’s upon those lips. The illustrator must have encountered him to have done such intricate work. The likeness was uncanny. Having gained all she required, she now consigned the evidence into the flames. Her notes were no longer necessary, with particular words now embedded in her psyche. 

From what resonated through her soul, Mina had found the way. And so, she had learned of the black candle; a drop of blood; particular matters both relating to her and not doing so in the slightest.

She had collected items in secret. She had waited and feared; dreamt; writhed in terror; revelled; hoped. Above all, she had learnt of herself and of her own beliefs. What she cared little for and what she loved beyond measure. Her wonderful Jonathan. Her dearly departed Lucy. She sensed how little time remained, as though an hourglass had been sitting beside her, letting sand spill out beneath her feet.

That sand she trod had become glass. The way felt smoother when she ceased to resist. The night of transformation was at hand.

It should be _her_ choice in the end. She closed her eyes as she emerged from her reverie; she made herself behave as she should, for Jonathan. She reached into the drawer again, and replaced the piece so that the compartment would be hidden from view again. Even empty, it should remain as it was.

Mina put on the cloak, tying the fabric at the neck; she tucked the pouch into the pocket, and gently stroked it. The weight would not bulge out too obviously and become evident. She looked up and studied herself in the mirror. Yes, she did look distant, did she not? Perhaps a bit forsaken. She looked like a spectre already with her increasing pallor. Her eyes were filled with a passionate light; they were firm and resolved despite her health. The gloves were then slipped on, more to shield others from her cold bite than to protect herself.

She almost laughed, uncertain if it was with rueful anger or joy or wonder. If all went as it should, soon it could be a more dangerous bite. She closed her eyes and took a breath; she made herself look and feel like the woman Jonathan had married. She both was, and yet was not.

Jonathan waited with the door half open; he smiled, pleased by the sight of her as she descended the staircase. The attire suited her quite well. He leant out again to verify the sound he heard. “You look breathtaking, Mina...oh, and Mr Morris is coming up the steps. He brought the carriage around.” The horses were out there snuffling and stomping their hooves. In his opinion, they must be ready to go galloping away, passenger or no.

“Oh, good. He knows the best shortcuts, if I recall,” she mused. He was a lovely man that was eager to help and distract one from their miseries. Should she request that he just skip the chemist entirely, she knew that he wasn’t the sort to betray a trust. Besides, there was the excuse that it seemed like a frightful time of shadows that would go unremarked upon.

This might be the last time she saw Jonathan by the light of the sun. Soon enough, she could have a curse fully upon her soul. She had already looked too long upon him in the bedroom, and so did not do so now. He would only think it was grief that was the root of it. She mustn't let him catch her staring at necks. She left with alacrity, the door shutting softly in her wake.

The coachman tipped his hat to her, and offered his assistance into the conveyance. He took the lantern for her, giving it back once she was settled within. He always made her feel like royalty. “Just tell me our destination, my dear!” He called down.

She did just that. “Our only stop is the graveyard, Mr Morris. You know the one; your Mr Smollet rescued us from there,” she smiled politely. She concealed the giddiness from her tone with effort. The carriage began to roll; she heard him call out to his horses, and relaxed. Her tempestuous mind fell quiet as she listened to the steady clopping of horses' hooves upon the road.

Her thoughts briefly turned back to the candles secreted upon her person. One black; one white. One symbolised death, the other life; rebirth. The moment was at hand. Remnants of hesitation remained in her heart, but were dutifully ignored.  
\--

Mina watched Mr Morris as he made progress down the lane. She had lied and explained that another would pick her up soon enough; she was not being abandoned if he parted from her company. A strange bit of sorrow had crept up again, but it hadn’t bled into her tone.

She waited until the coachman was out of view before she pulled shut the gate. Mina wondered if, in the resurrection of the undead, she would be truly damned and cast aside by all that was holy. Quietly, she touched that wondrous place where she had been bitten; the flesh was still sensitive to the touch.

If it were a sin, then it was tempered with love. She cared for little else but her success. She had heard the beating of Seward’s heart, rapid as a sparrow cornered by a house cat on the morning she should have been transformed. In the aftermath of the Count’s defeat, it had so tempted her. It still wooed her, even now, even if it was just a remembrance. It had been a beautiful sound, but she had managed to regain herself enough to temporarily turn away and not become so obvious in her desire for it. 

Mina found herself rubbing the ring between her fingers as she walked, almost impatiently. She had pulled it out as she had alighted from the vehicle. She had contemplated wearing it one month ago, but it felt like the wrong idea. She wasn’t ready; she wasn’t worthy. If she listened closely, she could hear syllables uttered in a guttural tone almost as old as time; she was a romantic at heart, and sane, but it was so real. Words echoed, captured in moments like amber, and wreathed in a fog of confusion.

The time between a nightmare and the vivid recovery of senses was when the sound was clearest; and it was when it was more demanding. Much as it had been this last occasion, when the words had pained and electrified her. She had found herself privately, almost jokingly, referring to it as the sea of waking dreams within her soul.

That living sea of wakeful dreams had tossed her to and fro quite admirably over the course of these last few weeks. She might have drowned; she might have bent; she might have fallen and failed in her quest had it taken longer for her to understand. Were she a lesser woman, perhaps she should have become a fixture in John’s sanatorium.

Finally, what emerged from that mythical sea foam was a brand new woman. She was no goddess at the point of creation, of singularity, of course. Never that. She was just more than she previously was, and yet to become something greater. Everything was clearer now that the decision was made; she was still at a crossroads, though not so agitated. She felt renewed. She knew her desires, though they might have become enshrouded in something far more dangerous than was once her wont.

She felt the pull of the night, and while she had struggled in fear at the start, now she clasped it tightly. She knew what to do. She knew how to do it. Lingering doubts may trickle in from time to time, but they were only for her role in this being that of a novice. She was no sorceress bending the elements to her will. Her tasks had always been natural ones, that of the teacher or the housewife or the friend, but now she must do better.

It had taken such effort to conceal the ring from Jonathan before she had found the mechanism within; she had moved it to so many hiding places, that it had become ridiculous. It was like hiding a present from an inquisitive child; by his searches and his desperation in the doing of such, she knew that he knew she possessed it. And then she understood that he only _sensed_ its presence, and nothing more. She couldn’t have asked him the depths of it without giving herself away.

She hadn’t dared. Jonathan was himself again, though his dreams did stir that obsession to find what was once his master’s property. The desire appeared to roil and churn as the very waves about the shores of Whitby. His reactions had been plain. His distraction of worry had ruled his mood. Had he heard a voice of any sort, he would have confessed to his doctor. He would have discarded this beautiful stone, with its rough exterior. She would enable it to do something beneficial.

Mina turned her full attention to the crypt. While the lantern had lit a portion of the way, it felt as though she had little need of it. Leaves blew by her. The wind caught her hair as she walked, before she pulled up the hood of her travelling cloak. She looked around. Autumn was a time of change. It was but a temporary death before life was fully restored. So, Mina implored, it would be for her. Just, perhaps, without so many months in between.

There were no prayers to be said for her soul. A higher power was presumably not at work on this night. Her smile could not be held at bay any longer. She was almost breathless with anticipation.

Mina stroked the marble with a gloved finger, as she looked upon the nearby statues. There were so many; she wondered what their stories were. She recalled poor Mr Cannon; his fate had been relayed to her, as well as Lucy, by old Mr Swales. She sighed, shaking her maudlin thoughts away. She now did enter that place others saw as an end. She lifted her lantern high. There was some murkiness to pierce still, despite the change to her senses. Her footsteps sounded so loud in the silence as she reverently approached Lucy’s coffin.

She was grateful to see the lid was not fully returned to its proper position, for she hadn't yet the strength to move it. She almost recoiled at the sight of such handiwork as the Professor had wrought. She knew her purpose, and would continue with diligence; the sight of that cemented her hatred of the man. There should have been animation to the face; a smile; a teasing comment that was made to provoke a reaction from her.

Mina would bring that back if she did this right. She understood things she shouldn’t from those dreams; there were secrets that must never be spoken, and knowledge that she should not have. Mina gazed at the face again, and ignored the stake; the grisliness unsettled her, but she hoped to be made of sterner stuff. She clutched the ring tighter. When the time was right, she would put it on that hand.

Mina deftly plucked the black candle out of the pouch. Few would look twice or think of this simple item as a symbol of necromancy. She produced the candle holder; she used her gas lantern as a match, waiting for the wick to catch; the white one followed. She placed the black before her, this symbol of the necromancy she was about to perform; the white was beside her. She gently placed the hair alongside each. She pulled the hat pin from her hair, and placed it between herself and the black candle. Blood must be drawn tonight.

“ _Tenebrae_ ,” Mina murmured as she looked upon the ring; the word was revealed to her earlier. It was but the first Latin phrasing of a litany of others, of which she somehow understood the proper pronunciation. It was neither a spell, nor an entreaty for the darkness to smother her beneath its soft embrace.

She paused. She sat back, and stared down at the candles; the soon to be sacrifice of blood; the lock of hair. _No_ , she told herself. She mustn’t delude herself. Yes, this _was_ an invocation. This _was_ a spell. She was meant to be drawing forth energies that would resurrect the dead. While she hoped it was not too dark to safely harness the resulting enchantment, she finally saw through her own denial. The thought of the task she would undertake tonight gave her the mildest of chills; they were chased away by her determination.

This _was_ necromancy; she always understood that, but had fooled herself into thinking it was not too big of a step to recover a loved one. She had told herself she wasn’t casting a spell. This _was_ a summoning. She was performing a conjuration on this night. Her words must be directed for Lucy, so that she may return to her, in body _and_ in mind. If she were not clear in her own thoughts, this would not work.

Her eyes were drawn back to the ring. That Latin word was but one engraved intricately upon the ring. Now that the hour was at hand, she comprehended what was looped in cursive beneath the larger inscription, and found a grim humour in the reading. _In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni_. ‘We enter the circle at night and are consumed by fire.’

Surely she would not come to such a bad end as a _moth_. Or was it in regard to a damned soul trapped and tormented in a lower rung of Dante’s Inferno? The Count’s reminder was strangely fitting.

She raised her voice so that it might echo through the tomb; it didn’t quite sound like her, she worried. It resonated with a power not her own. She spoke to whatever entities lurked within the world, and had the power to shape coming events. She gave utterance to several names of the darker beings she had uncovered in those texts. Let them look upon her, and deem her deserving. Let them not choose to smite her.

Mina continued from there with words she felt to be proper. “Free her from the darkness, no matter the shape or the cast. Let the nightcomer; _strigoi_ ; _nosferatu_ ; vampire, and a thousand other names across the land, return forthwith to her place of origin. Retrieve the soul of my beloved, wherever she may be. Give Lucy Weston back to me,” Mina intoned. “Return to her that which others stole in this very place, at this very hour, three months ago. I entreat thee!”

There was a temporary muteness; her tongue was stilled to silence as further words formed in her mind’s eye. She shuddered from the sensation, and then a calmness swept over her.

Mina felt as though the Count must surely be guiding her in her endeavours, in this place of confinement; someone whispered instructions into her mind. How would she know these next words otherwise? They came not from her research, but from another place. It felt as though she was not the one speaking them.

“Step forth from Death’s grip. Pass through the net as insubstantially as you became mist in undeath. My body will shepherd you, Lucy Weston; my voice will guide you across both peaceful streams and raging infernos. I will contain you, as you drift through the winding way to find your body.”

She used the pin to prick her finger minutely; she let a droplet fall upon the onyx of the ring as though to anoint it. One more drop spilled upon the white, and it went out. She expected such. She let another fall into the darker candle; she started as the reaction hissed. The flame changed and became black. It looked like a void; midnight; _death_. The lock of hair was offered, and vanished in a spark of black flame far faster than it should. Sweat formed on her brow.

Mina continued, clutching the ring so tight that it began to hurt. “Pass through the void, and enter this world. Enter me for but a moment. Trail across the hand that touched you in life, and then do enter th-this _shell_ that I see before me.” She heard herself saying the words, though they didn’t form from her mind. She only stumbled over one, for she hated such a word to be used for Lucy. Were she ever questioned, she would only be able to say that the Count provided when the hour was nigh.

Mina turned her head as something began to seep from the hinges of the door. She briefly feared that a fire had been set nearby, before she understood otherwise. A mist began to coalesce from there too thinly. She could see through it. Perhaps Lucy was too weak. Mina leapt up to see better. She rushed to meet the cloud-like manifestation on impulse, before she realised that was foolish.

She began to step away, but was too late in the action to take it back. She had brushed against it, her arm passing into the mass of red and black. It caused her to jerk in surprise. She felt that it tingled, even as it coiled around her forearm. She tried to move back, even as it stretched further to grasp her.

The air was electric and strange. It rippled, and moved even as she did. It seemed to be drawn to her touch. It drifted closer to her, before it gave what she presumed to be a shudder. And then it was doing that which she had so implored. She would be the shepherd she desired. It enveloped her, as she was all that was standing in the way of the body. It felt like she was suspended in time for an eternity. She couldn’t breathe. Then, it was gone. She gasped loudly, as pain and pleasure collided; she felt stifled; she felt another presence filling her and sharing her skin.

Lucy was _inside her_. She quivered with need. Mina carried the dead within her living flesh. They were each other at the same time, and it left Mina reeling. She knelt down on the floor, panting as she fought to control her emotions. She clutched her head as so much began to pass through her mind and soul that was not her own to know and understand.

Hunger; cruelty; passion; ecstasy; vengeance, and more. It all rapidly filled her. Need; fear as she was slain; confusion at being present; above all, love for her friend and desire. Mina felt like she was fainting, and then guessed that it was only due to Lucy switching them about. She was gazing out through her eyes and causing disorientation. This melding was not what she anticipated, due to her own unexpected reaction to the sight of anything related to her deceased friend.

Mina’s body arose from the cool marble floor; her head was shaken once, as though in disbelief. Lucy could think again. Hands not her own covered the face that was not hers. She straightened as Lucy became accustomed to the situation and gathered her wits about her. She was Lucy and wielding Mina, albeit unintentionally, was her first impression. Should she continue in this manner, she would surely be discovered. It felt as though, instinctively and not consciously, Mina wouldn’t allow her essence to move into its rightful place.

She moved her hands down Mina’s shape, in an effort to console, to let her out and understand; inadvertently, perhaps, to seduce. They were one, and neither. They were dual and singular, impossibly. Lucy felt Mina’s body shiver violently. It wasn’t meant to permanently house her. Mina was host and home. Welcoming and fearing. Dreamer and dreamt, and the line between them would become blurrier the longer she remained.

Could Lucy stay inside her, she would gladly do so, but reason and the spell commanded for more than that. The words from the Count—for Lucy agreed, it could only originate from him; she sensed his presence just beyond their pathetically veiled _human_ sight— _demanded_ more. It desired a resurrection before the energies would ease, and more blood flowing down her throat following such. She would be starved if such did not occur. She would be lost, and returned to the void.

She touched the woman’s mouth; yes, Mina may be close to turning herself, but her teeth were human. “The fault lies on your sweet brow, Mina. You have plunged us into this predicament. Let me go, dear. Your husband and John shall grow suspicious of me. Or you, as the case may be. One body shall not bed both,” she laughed. She felt Mina’s surprise at the very idea. What a scandal it would be, should word get around. Lucy softened in her teasing manner; perhaps the surprise also came from Lucy’s voice flowing from Mina’s mouth.

She sighed in relief; there, the knot loosened that bound her to this flesh. The tight embrace was reluctantly letting go, as Mina forced their present state to be corrected as best as she could. “Oh, Mina. I’ll see you soon, with my eyes.” She sensed Mina unable to stop herself from wondering if it was in death or life, and whether the separation would do either injury. There was only one way to find out. They had to be strong.

She couldn’t help but keep Mina in suspense. She found the memory that her mother was not doing as well as when she was alive; she turned away from it. They approached the coffin. They were more intimate in this hour than when they had shared a bed. Two hearts that beat as one, though one simply be a spirit’s remembrance. Two lives, though one be dead. Of course Mina would hate for it to end. They loved each other.

She felt tears on cheeks that were not hers; the level of emotion was so deep. She sagged against the pillar and gulped down desperate breaths, fighting back further sobs. “You have to let me go to keep me, Mina. I trust you to understand.” She felt as though Mina acknowledged it with regret. 

It was best to end this before madness claimed them or the rightful soul, her best friend, died and left her ruling flesh that was not hers, Lucy decided. That accursed Van Helsing might return and do them harm. He might separate them through force with an exorcism. That thought allowed the final thread keeping her in Mina to unravel. It felt as though the woman had been only half awake at the last; Lucy was there too long.

She could return to her body now. Her eyes opened; she rose with a deft swiftness that should not occur within a human form. She bent over the coffin, daring to face her death with another woman’s eyes. There was the ring beside the desiccated hand; Mina had dropped it, startled, when Lucy had formed. Lucy finished sliding it onto the finger, her own act of resurrection; her own part of the dark ritual that would give her a form, hopefully not so desolate. Lucy needed to be close to make the transfer. Mina’s body shuddered as she gradually extracted herself.

A writhing mist, still reddish black of colour, rose from Mina’s body. She felt the last of a great jolt of shock; there an odd sense of emptiness in her heart. Mina sank to the ground, holding her head as she adjusted to it being only her within her mind again. A moment more, and she regained her footing. The mist had appeared with far more clarity than when Lucy had flooded into her, as though her strength had been provided. Mina stepped away from the pillar upon which she had been propped.

The mist coiled atop the still form like a snake and hovered, moving in endless patterns in the air. Mina began to wonder if the corpse was too damaged, before it sank inside. Must she remove the stake before healing could take place? Mina moved to do so, hands shaking from the experience. However, even as her fingers brushed against the wood, the coffin shuddered.

Mina moved aside, and took shelter near the lantern. She crouched low, fearing it would rip itself to pieces from some diabolical machinations of the incantation she had harnessed. And yet, the coffin ceased its infernal vibrations not long after she reacted. A wind picked up as the ceremony concluded. It was only held back until then, suspended in time for her folly. That possession was an experience she never desired to repeat. However, if it had to occur, she couldn’t find a fault in it being experienced with such a woman.

The black candle flared mightily one final time, rising higher than Mina had ever beheld a candle go; then, it was extinguished as though by an unseen hand. It tipped over in the tumult, rolling away from the metal holder with a clatter before she could catch it. Mina knew not where it came to rest until she saw residual smoke drifting up and being blown away. The normal candle had gone out before the ceremony had reached its end, and was unaccounted for. The gas lamp dimmed unnervingly, and became the barest flicker before it returned to its previous state.

Mina stumbled into a corner for protection. The wind whirled faster, blowing her hair in wild disarray. She used a coffin opposite to shield herself with anything which may strike her head. Her cloak spread out much like the wings of a great bat behind her, as she moved. The tumult kicked up dust, which almost choked her. Her peripheral vision noted movement; she turned, then quickly lowered herself to the floor. Her hair pin was dodged, before it could pierce her heart; instead, it struck another coffin.

She panted heavily as emotions warred for dominance. It was all so overwhelming. Was there further danger yet to come? At last, to her dazed relief, she found herself in a calmer setting. She blinked quickly to clear her vision. She turned as the heavy door swung open of its own volition. Nothing was there, save the bright moonlight, for the clouds had parted. 

An outstretched hand entered her field of vision. It was _Lucy_. Mina’s vision blurred as joyful tears began to form. This was just as she had hoped! Lucy had been successfully returned to her; from the shade of her eyes, even in the same manner as before. As her emotions ran rampant, she ignored the proffered hand and sought to rise without assistance. She stumbled, shocked, even as she regained her footing. She stretched her hand out in wonder, scarcely hoping to feel anything more than a breeze. She was scared it was just another dream.

Her palm met deathly chilled flesh, and allowed her to breathe again. Mina stepped closer; her fingers were stroking slowly down Lucy’s cheek, coming to rest on her chin. She was _real_. She felt like the marble within this place, but Mina did not care. She was all in a sea of wonders. Mina fell into her arms with a badly stifled sob. The embrace wrapped around her was as strong as steel, but didn’t crush her.

“Oh, _Mina_ ,” Lucy managed. Her first words in this new life did not sound as hoarse or broken as she had suspected they might. Eyes gleaming with emotions that Mina couldn't hope to conceive the depths of, Lucy moved closer. She gently trailed a finger down Mina’s cheek, almost in a mimicry of what Mina had done. Then, she touched her lips. Fleetingly, she nuzzled the woman's ear, before she looked into her eyes again. 

“I am flesh transformed a _second time_ , by your act of _desire_.” How could she ever hope to repay her for this gift? Lucy studied the onyx ring upon her hand, now dotted with drying blood; _Mina’s_ blood. She should keep this as a token of her esteem.

Surely after so long, she required sustenance. Mina untied her cloak and allowed it to fall to the floor. It was one less barrier between their bodies. She next shakily unbuttoned, and then pulled down her collar. “Take of me as much as you wish, for however long! _Oh_ , Lucy, I should rather my change, my metamorphosis should come through your touch, and your love. I want it to be you, rather than to be alone when the change comes as it surely must, alone in the night.” Jonathan couldn’t have hoped to understand the joy of such a transformation, so she would have felt alone as the hour struck.

“You aren’t so far from it, my dear Mina,” Lucy remarked. Her eyes softened; they wouldn’t have, were this another. They both knew of the sensations of undeath, for she had regaled her with the wonder before. There was no need to convert this woman. “I can see it in you. There is also a particular aroma I detect, the closer you get; I’ll barely be required to do anything.” She knew Mina only wanted her sated. There was no need to hypnotise her.

“I know,” Mina softly replied. And in those words, she knew that Lucy could hear the extent of her love; her joy at the thought of eternal wonders; her heartbreak at the thought of her life ending. Nothing more should be said.

Lucy bent her head low; her lips touched Mina’s throat in first one natural kiss, and then the expected manner filled with fangs. She wrapped her arms around Mina and suckled from her; she felt the woman’s own grip tighten around her waist. Yes, she had missed this taste, as much as Mina had missed the bite. Her friend was giving her sustenance twice over now.

“Oh, _Lucy_ ,” Mina managed to moan, feeling such pleasure as she had never known existed. It was more than before. It was like coming home. She didn’t care what her body’s reactions were, for there were none there to be appalled. Nobody would scold them. Nobody would find their most private of places. There was the same joy as when Lucy had spoken of being flesh transformed. There was the same wonder stirring in her breast, even if she was the one to resurrect her.

Lucy pulled free, and Mina kept hold of her arm. Gradually, Lucy placed her on the ground. Mina felt a mild disappointment until a cut formed from a nail across Lucy’s neck, which was pale as the marble that surrounded them. The blood was a stark bit of a colour, the contrast almost unbearable to her eyes as everything grew so bright. It was her turn; it was her pleasure. No words were required. Mina only had to accept that which was provided, so the chains that may bind them could never be broken. At the first taste, Mina grew light-headed.

She felt her mortality slipping away, as though it was but mist. Lucy moved her carefully into the corner, so that she might be as comfortable as one could be on such a hard floor. A pillow from the coffin was shoved beneath her head, making Mina wrinkle her nose in mild revulsion. Lucy’s laughter echoed off the walls.

“You pick _now_ to be repulsed, my dearest Mina?” She began kissing Mina’s cheeks, amazed as Mina responded wantonly. She had such energy, and Lucy grinned. She kissed her forehead; lips; throat again, and Mina did the same to her as best she could. Lucy made her lay down, and gently brushed the hair from her eyes. She held her wrists and gently laid them back down over her chest as she jerked fiercely once from a pain.

Mina jolted further, though felt better prepared for the experience. It felt as though lightning had just pierced her heart. She arched her back with a gasp, but it was already passing by the time she reacted. She sensed her flesh beginning to cool. Or, rather, to grow cold ever more than what she had suffered from previously. Yes, her heart had stopped. Yes, her humanity was extinguished. No, she had no further need to breathe.

She felt rejuvenated. Mina pressed her hand to her chest, and then took Lucy’s hand so that she might feel the thump, or lack thereof within her. Of course, she likely heard the change as her heart ceased to pursue its purpose. “Is it truly so simple?” Mina wondered. She saw from the gaze upon her what the answer was. Yes, it truly was. Yes, it could be when one was not drained nightly.

Playfully, Lucy wrapped her arms around the newly transformed woman. “May I have this dance? Oh, but I have not danced since before I died.” Lucy was reborn, and so she would revel in all the experiences that must follow this grandiose occasion.

Mina glanced at her in surprise. She had dwelt so long on the anniversary of death that she had forgotten. Tonight was the night that ought to have been the first dance at Lucy’s wedding to John. This was the date they had selected. This was the date that had become a supposed freedom for herself and Jonathan instead. A wicked smile blossomed as her fingers brushed Lucy’s nose.

“Yes, my lady,” Mina teased softly. Her voice was almost reverent from the newness of her return. It was husky, even, and grew more seductive. She couldn’t deny her that. “A waltz, of course, such as when we laughed and cavorted before I married Jonathan?” They had teased each other so, causing the servants to go into a tizzy. And so they spent several minutes in this night time hour, dancing among the dead.

It was sacrilegious, but so were they. The bones of ancestors long since passed were their only witnesses. It was done in silence, with smiles, but the music of the night filled their minds, if not their souls. Occasionally, in play, Lucy lunged as though she would bite Mina. Mina did the same when she acclimated to the fangs; neither minded such sport.

The shadows on the wall flickered by the light of Mina’s lantern, now forgotten; now abandoned. It was a human fault to need such; these women could see everything housed within these walls with an eerie clarity without it. Two dark shapes writhed as they moved, as their shadows splayed upon the marble wall. Mina noticed; she viciously, victoriously smiled. She hadn’t needed to pause for a breath in their dance of death. Lucy tugged her into another faster one. They were the nightcomers, just as the spell had decreed.

The wall was practically a canvas as the shapes went from two to almost one, from the closeness. The movements were sharp, and unnatural. Mortals would have needed to stop and breathe. They didn’t. It was wondrous for both of them. When they finally ceased to move in elegance, they slowed to a stop and stared at each other. They smiled. They shared another kiss, of many more to come. They were too relieved to stop. 

Mina joyfully laughed, almost like the girl she had been in another time; another life, at least. She pressed their heads together while they plotted. 

Let her husband embrace the shadows for _her_ sake. She would be a better mistress than the Count, for she would never forsake him. And then, let them see to bringing about John to their way of thinking; their way of living. Delight wreathed Lucy’s face in an ethereal glow. They would seize the chance and take him.

Let them embrace the night, and never let it end. Mina knelt once, and retrieved her cloak, lest it be forgotten. As they walked to exit the crypt arm in arm, they chose another form of locomotion than simple feet. That was the slow path; that was the way of mortality. They sought to transmute into fog instead. Flesh became mist, creeping up their forms gradually, and not all at once. Their hair was the last to disappear from view.

The walls around were bare, echoing to their disembodied laughter, as though the dead were there. It amused them to think that if anyone intruded in this instant, they would have been ascribed a label as simple as a _phantasm_. No, they were not meant to linger and haunt the place where one was once slain so cruelly.

Each portion of mist converged upon one another, and then floated out and into the night. They had a singular purpose to perform. The only sign they were ever there was the upheaval. The lantern, still lit; candles, no longer wreathed with smoke; a bouquet of flowers, now discarded near the threshold. The coffin was open, its lid haphazardly discarded; it was obviously unoccupied.

A caretaker could see about these remnants, should one someday stumble upon their handiwork. The worries of the living no longer concerned them.


	3. Chapter 3

Jonathan was not quite at the end of his tether from the helpfulness of Weston House’s matriarch, but if things continued at their current rate, that could quickly grow to become the case.

Mrs Weston was still up, and had decided to mother hen Jonathan just a bit. She had brought him a glass of brandy; she had brought him a plate of supper shortly before that, though he insisted he could fetch it himself later. She had even offered to bring him one of her favourite potted plants, and he couldn’t fathom why. Perhaps it was out of loneliness that she sought his company. 

And then it struck him. Perhaps she merely grieved deeply; she missed having a living child to dote on. His sympathy rose. She almost saw Mina as a surrogate daughter; perhaps she saw him as a wayward son-in-law.

Jonathan could only smile in good humoured amusement at her and shake his head before she began to regale him with further odd stories of her friends. “I assure you, madam, I will be fine if I stay up alone. I won’t cause a mishap. I cannot possibly get into any trouble up here. You mustn’t worry.”

Mrs Weston sipped a glass of sherry, having momentarily decided to forego the laudanum. The young man had insisted that she, too, must relax, so she had taken a sample. Perhaps he didn’t mean in such a way, but Mrs Perkins could tell of her unhappiness later on. And she had so hoped he would be entertained in the tale of how Mr Anderson was unable to make a perfect crumb cake without it causing no end of concern that the chef would be out of a job. “You won’t be lonely?”

“I swear I’ll have Mina for company when she returns,” Jonathan assured her with a chuckle. “I won’t be cold, so I don’t have a need for another blanket,” he added, not unkindly. He took her hand. “I have the fire. Please don’t worry about me. Did you need anything for warmth?” He knew she grew cold, though thankfully it wasn’t to Mina’s extent. She was still a woman that was in poor health, and he wanted to help her.

“I have the cosiest of shawls waiting for me. I have extra, should a _dreadful_ chill overtake you. If I’ve gone to sleep and you need it, do have Mrs Perkins snatch it from me,” she advised him. “She’ll pry it out of my grip. She’ll be _glad_ to do it.” She chuckled even if she were wan. “No, no, I’ll return to my settee and then my bed.” After a parting hug, she patted his cheek with fondness. Then, she strolled away.

Jonathan only noticed that the door was still ajar when he overheard Perkins and Weston conversing. _‘He’s such a sweet boy when he’s not crashing Dr Seward’s dinner party. Straight through a window, can you imagine? I was there, and I still cannot! A perfect recovery! He was so agile!’_ Jonathan covered his face in disbelief. Then, embarrassed, he rose and discreetly shut the door the rest of the way.

His actions in those days haunted him whether he fully recalled them or not, it would appear. Seward was helping him to pull things up from the murky depths which had yet to float up, but it was a delicate process. Some things were wedged in tight; some memories, he hoped, would not be dislodged. He glanced down as he felt a mild chill after all; uncertain if it was emotional or physical, he threw an extra bit of wood into the hearth.

He found himself rubbing his hands in a nervous manner more than anything else, and made himself stop. Being cold just made him uncomfortable. Seward had helped him uncover that it was a result of the constant chill of both the castle, and, perhaps, the cell. The draughts for the former, both natural and unnatural, had been a bother even before his mind was altered. So much had been unearthed already. As his thoughts twisted around the edge of a revelation involving the blonde among their kind, he shivered.

Yes, the crackling fire was a more pleasant consideration. She was only fodder for upsetting sessions or troubling dreams if he dwelt too long on her mannerisms and her eyes. Even in the former, he refused to utter the names of the three vixens. Something about them lingered. He wasn’t certain what it was. He sighed, running his hands through his hair; he stopped himself prior to beginning to pace. Or, worse still, he might even go and bother Mrs Perkins, trailing after her until she might sit and share a spot of tea with him.

His one certainty regarding the Count’s activities was that something had been left behind. Perhaps it was not inside him as his dreams had first implied; perhaps it was a physical object. His suspicions were for the ring, as one of the only parts of him that had likely not turned to dust. A scrap of cape had blown away. Still, he had not seen the stone laying amid his refuse.

Whatever remained, it was in this very house. He should not feel such a pull upon him if he was just dreaming up nonsense. Or so he hoped.

He had felt it the first time on the night following his freedom. It never truly faded until tonight, in point of fact. Tonight, that tug, that rope that pulled at his mind was but a tiny speck, if not gone. It was not within this place. He felt nothing had occurred on his part to prompt the withdrawal of his agitation. What could have riled him in the first place? He put on a brave face for Mina, and suspected she did the same in whatever illness was bringing her low. He saw through her attempts.

One had to see through it just by the fact he had practically gone on some sort of demented quest for the source, and had upended the house over it. He had metaphorically gone over every nook and cranny with a fine-toothed comb, as well as every single closet as he sought _something_. He had searched the eaves and felt silly doing such.

Mrs Weston had been fascinated, and wondered as to the size of his lost item before he could venture further into the attic and stir up more dust for them to clean. She wasn't the least bit cross with him. What would he do with it when he found it? He had floundered and grown flustered, before he realised that if he didn’t know, then he couldn’t request aid. Of all the people, that good woman was the one who had helped him to see his quest for what it was: skirting the edges of madness.

Everyone had assured him that nothing was out of the ordinary. Mostly, he believed them, though not entirely. His sessions with Dr Seward started not too long before that. Seward had assured him that it was a natural phenomenon to expect further calamity after what he had endured, whether it was fully remembered or not. Jonathan still expected it to be more, but trusted his doctor was correct in this case. He _had_ to be.

He would know better than a former madman. Those were words that would never be uttered, but something Jonathan felt. Jonathan hadn’t had visions or heard voices; he hadn’t had a desire to restore the monster to whatever power he existed in, so what was it? He paused. He wouldn’t even call him Master in reference to his former position within his own mind, for fear that the old ways would take hold of him; he had been told that, too, was possibly natural. 

Jonathan had, at their session the day before yesterday, managed to describe the exact way that pull made him feel without entirely sounding like a fool. He had judged the feeling as likened to that of a homing pigeon that couldn’t find the correct address, and so flapped against every window, knowing it was out there somewhere.

When he had relayed such to Mina, it was worth the nonsense to hear her surprised laughter. He loved to hear such; it had been so horridly rare in this house, as anticipatory grief brought several down before the good Mrs Weston was even parted from them. Seward’s face had been confounded before he decided that maybe it was apt.

Jonathan hoped that, too, would pass completely. If it had for these past hours, perhaps it would stay far from his mind. Staring into the flames, he almost fell into a trance. He blinked quickly, understanding it was simply the hour that made him wish to watch the shapes as they continually moved and made such strange shadows flicker across his face. He leant against the mantle, and settled himself by simply watching.

Unnoticed behind him in his distraction, a fog was beginning to seep beneath the door. Having enthralled a servant, Mina and Lucy were invited in. They sensed his place, and so acted. One form emerged from within the mist, her lower half forming first. 

Mina stared hungrily upon Jonathan. The mist that was Lucy twirled and rose to the ceiling, waiting for her chance to descend upon him. She made herself so thin as to be unnoticeable above his head. Soundlessly, almost floating as she employed the mist, Mina moved closer to her husband. Her form became more vibrant as she willed the mist to be flesh alone.

Jonathan crouched low to retrieve the poker; as he had watched the flames warp and twist, an ember had thrown a spark. It threatened to reach the carpet. It was a danger. Mina matched his movements, crouching at the same level of him; she was studying him soundlessly, much as the hunter would the prey. Her mouth opened; fangs elongated which resembled that of a rat rather than a serpent coiled to strike. The smell of him was exquisite, but she had another idea. She would refrain from tasting him.

She smirked; she chose to play with him first. Her fangs slowly, achingly, withdrew so that she could more closely resemble his Mina. Her hand stretched out; she almost grabbed his shoulder, for she wanted to yank him to her. No; instead, she merely slid it up his back. Her hand was not quite touching the cloth of his shirt; surely, he would sense something. Indeed, he tensed. She grasped the back of his neck lightly; her sharper nails pressed against his mortal skin. She was prepared for any response.

Jonathan gasped, terrified that someone had taken him unawares. He rose up quickly, so suddenly that he almost made himself dizzy. He brandished the poker that he had lightly gripped before, prepared to do battle with whomever wished to harm the household. Then, it sank in who was before him; he felt ridiculous. And who could have ever broken in from up here? He was on the second floor, for Heaven’s sake!

He rubbed his face. Then, he took in her expression as she moved at the same rate as him. That was a disconcerting coincidence. It was odd, but he felt horrified that he may have harmed her himself. Perhaps each had startled the other. “I—I’m so sorry, Mina. I should have heard the creak of the door. I must have been lost in my mind. It’s good to see you’ve returned without incident.”

He gave the poker a hard look that was almost accusatory, before he sighed. With that, he awkwardly lowered it to his side. He shoved it back into its proper place, before he looked back to her. “I suppose I’ve been on edge,” he whispered, half to himself. “Did you skip the chemist after all?” He wondered about that, as he rubbed the back of his neck; either the cold or shock of his short-lived terror had induced gooseflesh to arise.

“Yes,” Mina confirmed with a chuckle. “You seemed so serious.” She glanced at the ceiling; she knew how hard it was for Lucy to resist intruding, but Jonathan was _her_ husband. Best get things underway.

He reached for her hand, and flinched. Yes, the cold was emanating from her, and it wasn’t his imagination. It had, in fact, grown even sharper. That could not be healthy by any means, and so his concern for her grew by leaps and bounds. And yet, the familiarity of her presence was also wrong. 

Did she appear paler than she had before her departure? “If you are worse...I can simply rouse Dr Seward with a simple telegram. He offered, should there be an emergency that leaves us uncertain. At any hour of the day or night.” It might put them both at ease to rule out whatever matters he could. A moment more, and he continued. “Mrs Weston has found herself in bed by now. We won't bother her." 

“No,” Mina snapped. That just wouldn’t do to bring him in before Jonathan was claimed by her. She made her tone become more pleasant when she sensed Jonathan’s uneasiness. “I find that my health is restored; the night air was cold enough to pierce my gloves. That is all. There was little among the relics to shelter me previously from the wind, if you’ll recall.” She studied him. “My vitality has...risen anew. I won’t be in bed at an improper hour tomorrow.” She would be in a coffin. “We mustn’t call on John yet, dear. I am not ready for his presence.” 

Jonathan began to grow mildly agitated by her tone alone. He found himself drawing back from her. “The house is in order, and you look lovely. Mina, you haven’t a hair out of place,” he sought to assure her, if that was the trouble. The lateness had been worse for them all. Then, he tensed and understood his discomfort.

Mina was lovely, yes; she was radiant; otherworldly, in point of fact. This was wrong. Her paleness did not speak of ill health, but something far worse. She was dead. She was one of the walking dead. He hesitated, looking away quickly from her. He didn’t want to believe it could be possible. He wanted to shake it off, and say it was stress. He _wanted_ to be wrong with all his being, and laugh at the very idea with Mina.

He took in the signs with this new potentiality before him. He couldn’t see her draw a breath however long he waited. He saw her eyes, thrilled by a performance, and his heart sank. They turned crimson even as he watched, and the sight of them glowing almost made it stop in response. The ladies’ eyes did that as they hunted him; the Count when he was angered; Lucy, as he had once observed through the Count. And then those sharp fangs began to sprout from his darling wife, as awesome; as uncanny; as terrible as the women three in the castle. 

Jonathan stepped away from her, mortal terror rising to the surface. He thought about grabbing the poker again, but Mina easily tossed it away. It came to rest beneath the curtained window. It wouldn’t draw attention to them. There had not been a crash, but a muffled thump as it hit a discarded blanket. This was his Mina. He couldn’t fight her, though he, of course, desired to save both his life, as well as his blood from being consumed. 

He gestured helplessly to her for an instant; he hadn’t a cross at hand; neither hammer nor stake. He had no protections. “Oh, _Mina_ ,” he moaned in horror as her face grew almost demonic to his eyes. “This isn’t you. This _should never_ have become you.” This was the woman he loved more than life itself. He didn’t want to hurt her.

He backed up until he stumbled into the small dustbin; he caught himself even as he fell against the wall, breathing heavily. He was cornered. He was wide-eyed, as the blood-starved fiend approached. He made a cross out of his fingers; it was all he could think of in this hour. She hissed at him like a feral creature that ought to be caged. Jonathan wondered if he could reach the door from this position, until he heard a hiss from above him, too.

He feared looking away from Mina, but there was no other choice. Jonathan began to slowly peer upward. Something pale moved almost lazily across the ceiling. It was not smoke; it certainly hadn’t entered via an open window. He frowned at the strangeness, carefully glancing back to Mina. And then, he was startled to hear another sound; a growl was emanating from within. He let out a grunt as a female arm struck him. An arm, and no more had formed from the mist. 

The gesture had been broken. He rubbed his sore wrist for a moment, glad it was not sprained or worse. Then, it was forcibly restrained. That floating limb was only solitary at the start. As he watched in mute horror, a female body began to form further around the limb, from the waist and on upward. It was moving as though rippling water was alongside him as a second arm joined the first. It was that which now clung to him. He had yet to see the face, and thereby know who he must blame for this damnable horror.

He could not reach the poker; he dared not approach his own wife, lest he be killed or transformed. Could he reach the door? Mina moved to block it. His arm was grabbed in a vice of a grip and wrenched behind him, before he could try to form another cross. He looked over his shoulder, uncertain if he should insult the woman or seek to reason with her. However, as he at last stared upon her countenance, his mouth fell open in disbelief. Had this incident with his wife smashed his reason asunder? Was this even possible?

“Oh, God,” Jonathan moaned. “You are meant to be dead twice over!” Lucy only seemed amused by his reaction, while he frantically wondered if the Count lurked nearby. How many resurrected vampires walked the streets of Whitby anew? Was every damned soul within the world restored? Before he could scream for help, having heard the thump of a door down the hall, Lucy had let him go. There was a strange pressure against his mind. Lucy put a finger to his lips at the same instant. He squeezed his eyes shut to protect himself from the accursed magnetic pull of her eyes.

“It was Mother, moving about. Do you wish to kill her?” The vampire sternly wondered. Terrorising him was fun, but there were limits. “Give a cry, and _you_ are responsible for her death. Can her heart bear the strain of seeing me again?” If that became fact, she perceived that in her present mindset, she would merely drain him dry in recompense. It would also draw unwanted attention to their activities. Mina would be upset, of course, and so she first preyed on the man’s desire to keep everyone from harm. 

Jonathan shook his head, uncertainty in his eyes when they opened again. Of course he did not want anyone else harmed. He also lingered over the possibility of being trapped and dying for the joy of these creatures. In his heart, he was firmly wrapped in denial. This could not be happening to him again. He shook his head, looking into her eyes fleetingly despite his protestations. “This cannot be real. It’s just another of my nightmares rising up from the muck.”

Mina smirked and sauntered closer. “This is no dream, my love. It is merely the beginning of everlasting pleasure and joy for us...and, perhaps, a portion of such shall be extended to you.” She tried another course; while she sounded like his Mina momentarily, she doubted it would do much to help with her eyes blood red; they eased to a more natural appearance. Effort was applied gently to soothe; she sought to mesmerise him with her voice just enough that he would lower his defences. 

She tilted her chin up, as though she were insulted. She must prove to be bewitching enough to him that he might lose himself in her eyes. “Look into my eyes, Jonathan. Am I not your wife? You must realise I would never mean you any harm.” It took even more effort to keep a seductive drawl from her tone. “If you believe otherwise, that is the crudest thought you have ever directed my way!”

His first instinct was to go to her; comfort her. He began to move, only to frown; no. He shouldn’t, for that was unsafe. He knew this. He had experienced such a thing before, though not at such an intimate level. He looked into her eyes, puzzled and wary; then, he found, he could not move in either direction. It was worse than the gentle push from Lucy. Nay, his body would not budge. 

It felt much as it had that night the Count had gazed into his soul and cast a spell upon his heart and mind. Her tone had been a trick for a decent man, as he had suspected; her gaze, therefore, was a trap that had now been sprung. Her game was at an end.

He could only stare ever deeper, swaying as she did, in an odd test to prove that he was in her power. His tension fled; his face turned slack. From far away he felt that placid overlay of the trance envelop him. Lucy touched his arm; thoughtlessly, he moved where she bid him. The direction he was steered was towards the cushioned chair; yes, he should be seated within its comfort. Outwardly, he obeyed; like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he simply slumped within its confines until he was manipulated further.

In his heart, he trembled. He dreaded what was yet to come. He prayed that someone would stop them, for he presumed that he was to be transformed into their sort. Above all, he feared that at any instant would see the Count gliding into the room, and announcing with great humour that everyone in the house was dead. If he could move, he might bite his knuckles in nervous terror.

Or, perhaps, he might fall into hysteria, and be truly in need of Seward’s attention. Both women entered his field of vision; they were leaning over him. He could not speak. It all felt disjointed and wrong, as though waking from a long nap with no sense of time or space. Two pairs of red eyes drilled into his mind, and transformed his fear into serenity. He could only stare as each pricked a finger and took a single drop of his blood, allowing it to land on their own before they tasted it. 

Then, it seemed, it was his turn to have a sample. Mina pricked her cold white finger with a fang; a drop of red, stark against the pallor of undead flesh, beaded up slower than Jonathan’s had. She studied his face, and gently touched her lips to his. There was no reaction, as she then bent next to his head. “You must taste of me, as I have tasted of you, my sweet,” she purred into his ear. “And then we repeat the process with Lucy.” 

She let her blood drip onto the lips she had kissed. Instinctively, as he was instructed, he licked it up and felt distantly confused. Perhaps he shouldn’t want more. And yet, he did. She stepped behind him, then, her palm upon his shoulder to keep him still should he have the wherewithal to move. Lucy did the same with her blood; it was accepted as Mina’s had been. There was no possibility of a refusal. 

Mina gazed down at him, and lifted his chin. There must be a certain bit of ceremony involved in this. “You will be _ours_ to keep; to cherish; to do as we bid you, our best beloved one. There is so much to do, and little time to do it, you see. You will be more than my husband. You shall become our helper; our sweet little servant; you will obey us, and cross land or sea to do our bidding.” Her voice echoed through his mind. She trailed her finger from his ear, down to his throat. “We have but this night, I would think, before anyone grows to wonder about you.”

She stroked his temple, making him fall even further into a trance so profound that it practically mimicked sleep. The total alteration of his mind would be swift. She flowed in like water through the sieves of his mind; there was not a sign of any natural barrier. She met those shadow remnants that still lingered within him. They were tattered; almost lifeless shreds of what he had been at the Count’s side. They were dormant. Though they did not entwine his soul per se, he was not exorcised of such a vulnerability; he was still what she would term infested by the aftermath.

And so, these pieces would be added to; they would make a new cloak for his soul, from the fabric left behind so carelessly. It only waited for another figure to rework him, and shape his purpose anew; it waited for the spark of life. Van Helsing was careless for not checking on him. Mina smirked. All it would take was a new mistress to steer it. Carefully, his will was twisted; his goals, altered. Mina encouraged the seeds of corruption with a loving hand.

When it came to the Count, she now knew that he had only implemented hypnosis. There were only those scattered pieces; this was more, though begun by him. And yet, she paused in her work and removed one that she found, even in her new state of being, wretched. There would be no foul eating of lowly insects. She despised that he had become so pitifully malnourished before without proper sustenance. He had still yet to fully regain what was lost; therefore, his hunger would remain his own.

His will was supplanted as the new merged with the old; the latter was consumed. The blood amplified the speed with which her power worked. As she left his mind, she felt a quake within it. As she stood up straight again, she heard him gasp. His eyes squeezed shut ever tighter, and then he relaxed under her touch. A dark smirk stretched across his lips, where it was blank before. A quiet chuckle, familiar and yet not at once burst out, before he stirred, and touched his face.

Gradually, his eyes fluttered open. At first, he seemed to be dazed by the process he had undergone. Then, he settled and seemed to know where he was, and who was among him. At this realisation, his gaze grew keen; the intelligence within became excited and crafty. He was willing to be led, yet still free enough to plot in their defence; in their honour, should they be parted. His eyes were vibrant.

Mina smiled with love in her eyes, as well as pride. She had sewn this new creature so well within his flesh and bone. “Hello, dear.” She perceived he was not the least bit mad; he would not be so around them. Perhaps his ideas would be different with altered perceptions, but that was just the influence of their blood; Lucy’s presence in his mind, as well as hers would continue the process. Jonathan peered up at her, eyes brimming with a deeper devotion than the Count had even seen.

Jonathan turned towards Lucy, and his smile grew. She was a presence whose boon should be savoured. He rose and approached her with veneration; he pressed his hand into hers, not caring about the iron grip that had so frightened him before. Quietly, he embraced her. “I understand it all. You were meant for her, and never the Count. He put my loyalties upon himself; he was stingy and I could not serve you. Lovely woman,” he enthused.

Now he believed that the control of old had been necessary. It was but a prelude to a greater glory; this was a service in which he should revel. He wished to grovel, but the thought was discarded by Mina before he could act on it.

Lucy could see the permanence of it in his eyes. Their control should be absolute. This darkness would not be shaken loose. She extracted her hand delicately, and stroked his cheek. “Good boy,” she praised. He was almost preening. He would be a magnificent little instrument of terror! " _Oh_ , if only we might have played together, you and I. You should have found it delicious even then, dear Jonathan." She could feel the man's quiver of physical need, yet dampened that reaction so it would not get in their way. 

Jonathan noticed the ring on Lucy’s finger, now that he was not frightened out of his wits. Recognition lit his face. Hooded eyes shifted Mina’s way. “So _that_ is how this miracle was performed. That is how I am blessed to serve _two_ ,” Jonathan chuckled with delight. “However did you conceal it? The last sliver of him inside me must have caused such a delicious ache for it.”

Mina could tell that he wanted to let loose with raucous laughter, but understood their need for secrecy. He closed his eyes when she mentally poured it into him. He could see the hiding place as well as she. She allowed him to see the resurrection, and feel how it had almost consumed her with everything that Lucy was. His concern was felt, but gave way to gratitude.

“Well done,” Jonathan sighed as she drew him closer. The old him would have been terribly afraid; at present, he felt it was a noble deed handled splendidly. He knew their purpose here was almost ended. “You desire Dr Seward, then? What do you wish for me to reveal to you?” He presumed she fancied the doctor's neck. There was a mild flinch as he felt her rooting around; she now had John’s itinerary, such little as Jonathan knew from their sessions. 

Mina nodded to herself as she located his whereabouts from the man’s remembrances. She raised a brow as she turned to face Lucy; the woman waited, and Mina still felt awestruck just by the sight of her. She hoped the novelty would never wear off. “He dines with the Professor in this hour,” Mina warily informed her. Should they run into each other, the Professor would know at once what she had become. It was to Jonathan that she put her question. “How much longer would you estimate they’ll be?” 

As he thought, Jonathan tipped his head back until it met the wall. He couldn’t bear to displease these women. “They have not spoken of much that matches their interests in the past,” he explained. Without meaning to, his doctor had confided such. The man had been grumbling about the Professor’s methods prior to a session one afternoon; he had purportedly sought to experiment with mesmerism further, and seemingly put to use a man that believed himself to be beset by succubi.

“They haven’t much in common save the thread that binds us all,” he apologetically explained. “I advise a half hour more to finish cigars. I’d expect such politeness towards his mentor, rather than hastening him to the door without just cause.”

Very good. “We shall call upon him with care,” Mina proposed. She influenced Jonathan’s mind subtly, so that it would be open to all the potential ways he may be forced to plot and plan tonight. “We will pretend our dreams have shaken us to the core and are shared. It is a delicate matter. There was intimacy involved; horrors were unleashed that we are _so_ embarrassed by. It has left us reeling. It is private, and best spoken only to the man we trust the most: Dr John Seward,” she smiled.

If he were alone by then, all would be well. Her expression told of all the ways the Professor would surely suffer if he lingered. If he dared to lay a hand upon one of their own again, his life was in her hands to cast aside in whatever way she judged as appropriate.

A message curled up in Jonathan’s mind; in reply, he quietly nodded. Dr Seward would certainly join this burgeoning flock. The solicitor found himself coldly observing that their wants were his, and the need was great. He felt the two situating themselves ever deeper into his head, curling up tight; he wasn’t afraid. It was a lovely possession this go around; there were fewer occasions that he felt he might be locked away in a cell or cargo hold. They would not be denied.

Jonathan flashed what could almost be called a smile, though it did not reach his eyes. As he spoke, those gradually filled with a sinister gleam. “Dear Lucy, would you like to see to biting your mother as well? You did not desire me to cry out and cause her to collapse, I recall. You said naught about her blood.” Under differing circumstances, and if he were a better man, he would never have contemplated asking such a thing. Now, it felt as though the topic must be broached. It seemed to be the most reasonable of ideas. “Or must we avoid further suspicion?”

Lucy had contemplated such earlier, but now she shook her head; if she stretched her senses, she could even hear dear Mother drawing each lonely little breath. A tonic had been taken; she was resting. She could bestow the gift upon her, but no. She had lived out her allotted span of time. She wouldn’t do well as one of the elect. The ailing woman should not join their ranks. “No, Jonathan. Not her; we must avoid touching her as we part.” She smirked as he finished. “You have the right idea, my sweet. You learn so very quickly.”

“Have I a proper excuse for my departure? Mrs Perkins will certainly wonder about me,” Jonathan enquired next. He found himself thinking ahead. He would be missed when he did not make an appearance for breakfast. He was normally one of the first ones up so that he might have the first, freshest helping of porridge, served straight from the pot.

Mina provided that readily. “I’ll explain that we must be away for a time. She mustn’t wait up, for we could be a while,” she offered. With that, she casually strolled out of the room to do that very thing; Lucy would stay behind to prevent an uproar; Jonathan could keep her company.

In the end, it didn’t take long for her to plant the suggestion of a family tragedy causing them to leave Whitby. Perhaps it was even on Jonathan’s side of the family, and there were so few on that branch remaining that they must be seen to at once.

And, she implied, perhaps they must leave the shores of England altogether. She turned back to see Jonathan watching her. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, calm and quiet until such a time as they were alone, and he was required. His eyes followed Mrs Perkins as she wandered off, dazed from Mina’s mental talent. He beamed so brightly at Mina, and so proudly.

“You do such wondrous work,” Jonathan softly praised. The devotion would never stray, even influenced by the darkness of the undead. It was almost still befitting of a faithful husband to a wife, and not merely as the twice altered servant to a vampire. 

“Thank you,” she smiled as she dropped a kiss on the nape of his neck. He shivered as her fangs scraped the delicate skin, but didn’t pierce it. She had only let them emerge for him. So much love was on his face that it could move a creature like she had become. Mina never wanted to stamp out such an emotion within him; she couldn’t bear to take that light away from him, be it dim or glowing bright as the hated sun. And it wouldn’t have been wise to leave a guardian without that love, or devotion; it could get them all into trouble.

The two returned to where they had so quietly plotted with their third. They looked at the clock. The Professor should have left Seward’s home by now. Jonathan felt Lucy digging through his soul for all the details of what happened while she was left to her own devices. It was not wholly unwelcome and he was growing ever more accustomed to the once familiar sensation of having no private thoughts. His face bore a question.

Lucy’s expression spoke of unwanted remembrances. “We will not be brought to ground. You will not fail in your desire to keep someone you've been entrusted to serve safe. Not a second time.” She brushed where she felt the stake hammered once before; she shuddered. She saw the horror in her mind, and placed it in Jonathan’s as well, so that he may know and feel that which she had. 

Jonathan recoiled. “You will never feel such cruelty again,” he shakily vowed as the sensations began to fade. He stared down at himself; he had seen blood not his own staining his hands; gushing from his chest. It was gone; it was an illusion, though the horror was a truth. Until then, he touched his chest as though to confirm he himself had not had the treatment implemented. No; no, he was mortal, and would therefore go unharmed by the unworthy. He would be no more than their bait, he recalled in abject disgust.

“Tell us, then, Jonathan,” Mina requested. Best have an answer before they struck. “We know of Glebe House. We’ll go there for the day after tonight’s work is complete. Where else do we go that none may know?” He knew of Lucy’s suffering, and would therefore not be too hasty in his selection.

Jonathan was pleased. “The Count did lay down several coffins within the basement, in point of fact.” Wryly, he added, “Nobody has disturbed them since. I wasn’t foolish enough to do so as of yet.” Of another mind, he would have thought it a brave deed best done a year to the day of the Count’s destruction, he supposed.

He contemplated her query. “The castle,” Jonathan suggested cautiously, after approximately a minute of consideration. “We need only clear out the ladies, or avoid them; it will be whichever you so desire, should we be unable to achieve some semblance of order. It would be best to plant roots there, prior to further excursions; I am familiar with the territory.” Indeed, now that he served _these_ two, he no longer desired those vixens. They were out of bounds of the ones who manipulated his thoughts above all.

“There is also Munich, for when we should depart Transylvania,” Jonathan pointed out as he pondered the region further. The castle was known, but Munich would most likely never be considered. He glanced between the women. He was in favour of the location, for he doubted the Professor would have seen much use in them going there. “There are superstitions aplenty there, among the many necks. You would be at your leisure to mingle and get lost in the crowd without the Professor standing in your way.”

“What of Prague?” Mina astutely suggested. Yes; regrouping in Transylvania sounded best to her, before better pastures were found. Her fangs were out in remembered upset, glinting in the light of the hearth. She sensed that Jonathan’s mind was befuddled by the suggestion. “You were never there, of course; the Count penned and posted a letter purportedly from you. Only John and Lucy and I know of it. I doubt he informed the Professor. And if so, what would be the _point_ of seeking us _there_?” It wouldn’t merit a second thought for him, she trusted.

“Yes; Prague,” Jonathan mused. His answering grin was slow but contained the viciousness which matched Mina’s mood. “Splendid. You could expand your bloodline from Munich... _or Prague_.” He felt as though they were already charting the course for Prague. “I have particular connections. Following our arrival at the castle, or even before, I could wire ahead and make plans to meet with some fellows about a residence in that region.”

He already knew just the men that would aid them. They wouldn’t ask questions. They wouldn’t betray them. They only cared for coin. “Oh, this will be glorious,” he enthused as quietly as he could. All would be well, though he did wonder when he would get some sleep. Perhaps he would be allowed when they were all safely enmeshed in Glebe.

“I’ll run ahead, dears,” Lucy said teasingly after she tapped Jonathan’s chin; she moved to open the window, then crouched low upon the sill. “It wouldn’t be civilised for a dead woman to be seen wandering the streets after hours, now would it?”

No. It most certainly wouldn’t be done in polite society. With that, she took to the skies as a bat, almost a blur as she set in motion. Jonathan briefly crawled half out of the window to watch her progress. His grin grew larger as he beheld the speed at which she moved. Mina pulled him back inside by the back of his shirt. One look into her eyes, and he knew what would be best for them.

 _He_ must drive the carriage; he must abscond with it while Mr Morris was slumbering away in the loft. Nodding quietly, Jonathan moved to the stairs with a triumphant Mina close behind. She was hungry. Best be quick about it before she lost control and harmed one she mustn’t. He could feel those pangs as if they were his own.

He nodded politely to the maid as he passed her on the landing, though she was presently mesmerised. There was no need to provide instructions to her, for she would never recall their presence.


	4. Chapter 4

From out of the shadows, a carriage emerged. It made its way up the path which led to what functioned as both Seward's place of work, as well as his home. Slowly, it rolled to a stop. The horses stomped their hooves nervously, unsettled by the unnatural being within the curtained area. A moment more, and they settled down.

Jonathan leapt down from the driver’s seat, landing on the ground with a muted thump. He hurried around to the side and opened the door for Mina. Her red eyes latched onto his.

She smiled, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She allowed him to pluck her from the step, in memory of when she was human. He spun her around quietly, letting her feet meet the cobblestone without further incident. They held each other in that manner a moment more.

Together, they turned to stare upon the Seward residence. Mina sent all of her observations and thoughts into Jonathan’s mind in anticipation of walking through those doors. He knew what to do. Yes; they must see to spinning a dark web around John; the tale they were going to tell must be crafty and bold enough that it suited them. And, above all, credible. Perhaps they could make him believe that he was lonely enough to be seduced by their wiles.

Jonathan would do this for her will. He could do nothing less. Jonathan glanced to Mina; he felt something else seep down the blood that connected them; there were no instructions. It felt a bit like a steady hum of background noise. Soon enough, he understood that it was her power.

Fog began to roll closer to the house; chilled, Jonathan pulled his coat tighter around himself. It transformed all, causing an air of oppressiveness to fall upon the area as it practically blotted out the light emanating from the street lamps that edged the driveway. Seward wouldn’t be able to leave unless they wished it; it pulsated, as alive as she was. He smiled; it was practically claustrophobic.

Jonathan was impressed by her actions, but did not speak. A shroud of white now hid the perimeter. Only they and the carriage were visible. And, he spotted something more. Where Mina walked, the mist parted just enough for her. And, for him, by extension of her will. Their path was clear.

He turned up his face, gazing upwards as one line in the air cleared. A bat swooped about in the circumference of a circle, and no further, directly above the house; he saw it dive closer to them, before it returned to its likely dizzying heights. He could see the red eyes glowing from there. So there was Lucy, waiting for her hour to come, as it surely would. He felt her glee. Soon enough, his doctor would know the intimacy of their dark glory.

They walked up the front steps, yet did not knock. Not yet. Instead, they began readying themselves, and their appearances. Jonathan strove to look frazzled and concerned, when he felt neither emotion. Mina placed her hand in Jonathan’s, and squeezed it. They must put in an impeccable performance. Jonathan's instructions now were quite simple.

Gain them entrance to the house; gain an invitation through whatever means he had available. Merely knocking upon the man's door was not enough to get him to utter the proper words. His crafty smile grew as he mentally reached for Mina. 

She approved of his contrivance. She placed him directly in the path behind her, and the fog thickened. It would no longer part for his safety. Mina stretched out a hand to caress Jonathan’s cheek. They shared a lustful kiss from within the wall of white, which promised further rewards for him once their scheme came to its hopefully desired conclusion. He parted from her only with reluctance. He understood where his place was in this matter, and moved into position.

She rapped upon the door as though in desperate need, and steeled herself to resemble that of a fretful housewife in need of assistance with understanding her fate, as well as that of her husband. If Seward looked at her, he would only see bad memories were, perhaps, invoked of another night that changed their world. Fog was not a believable reason for that, given its prevalence. She clutched her cloak tighter about her so that she might look suitable for the climate.

Seward rushed towards the door, wondering who it could possibly be at this hour. He had assured Mrs Hoskins that he could see to the comfort of any visitors; she needed to relax once she finished clearing the dinner table. He felt that she was overworked, but she felt the same in regard to him. It couldn’t be helped when patients had needs at all hours of the day and night. Was it that Van Helsing had forgotten something? Was there an emergency?

As the door opened, Jonathan made as though he was scaling the final step just now, and was not quite in sync with his wife’s movements. Unable to see it, he lunged forward at the appropriate place, and successfully tripped across the threshold. It was a strategic movement that only gained him a more believable fall from the rug’s placement; he had recalled its presence from his previous visit. On that visit, he had merely commented on the lovely pattern. It was not so lovely from floor level. He had to smirk at that.

“A thousand apologies, sir,” he managed as though pained; he rolled over, briefly tangled in the fabric. “I am a _poor_ guest, Dr Seward. I have flung myself at your mercy, figuratively, and, it appears, quite literally. All so that I might enquire as to gaining your assistance. Give me a moment, if you would, so that I might gather myself. I apologise again if I have torn your vaunted antique.” His words and deeds were a simple but feasible ploy to gain the man’s sympathy. As he finished, he leant back as though determining what his next move ought to be.

Seward was momentarily stunned into inaction. Then, he shook his head, confused at the merriment in Jonathan’s eyes as his friend lay sprawled upon his carpet. “Jonathan, are you harmed? Come in, and help me with him, Mina! Don’t worry about manners.” As he moved to aid the man, he glanced over his shoulder just in time to catch a victorious gleam in her eyes, which faded into a puzzled worry for an injured soul. There was something of that nature echoed in Jonathan’s manner, too, before it was concealed by a frayed, yet oblivious expression.

“Oh, Jonathan!” Mina expressed, as though horrified by his state. She practically glided into the room, kneeling at his side. “You poor dear. That could have been me, gone head over heels in this, our hour of need.” A faint harrumph came from Jonathan as he reached his knees. Perhaps that was a bit too melodramatic. She sought for calmer seas, lest the man feel she was hysterical. “We came about dreams that left us reeling, but did not expect it to occur in such a physical way.”

Jonathan brushed himself off, before he peered upward at Seward. His goal was achieved. He had served his Mistress well, and felt her pleasure as much as his own. “The only damage done was to my dignity,” Jonathan replied with honesty. He rubbed his head in unabashed embarrassment, for he felt this would be a proper emotion to follow. He felt the words would sound as though he were still Seward’s friend and patient. However, he watched for Seward’s belief of him with an intensity that did not resemble that fellow in the slightest.

As he was brought to his feet, Mina practically cooed over him. They were the hunters, and not the prey animal. It was difficult to play the role of the wounded lamb. He closed his eyes; perhaps Seward would see it as collecting his wits. He meant to merely take a steadying breath, to add to his act. 

As he closed them, however, Jonathan felt himself drawn into the wrong vampire’s mind; his bloodlust had been pulled into hers. He saw what Lucy saw as she left the roof and entered the bushes. She stalked a coachman through the amplified fog, as he returned a carriage to its rightful place, and put away the horses.

Jonathan could hear the heartbeat. He smelt the man’s sweat, and knew she was on the prowl; she was still hungry. Oh, but Lucy _was_ tempted. 

**_‘Do not stray too far,’_** he bid her. The warning was for himself, as well as her. He felt her turning towards her previous position. It felt like he could get lost in her. It was both exhilarating and horrifying. He jumped, startled even as he cleared the path which brought him back to his physical body. A hand had touched his shoulder. His eyes flew open, and met the concerned ones of Seward.

“Now, then. What brings you two to my door at this time of night? Has something happened? You spoke of dreams?” Seward gently prompted once everyone was upright. Finally, he was assured that Jonathan was not in danger of toppling over again. He had quietly checked Jonathan’s ankles before he rose, yet found no sign of sprain. He was fortunate. Given such a tumble, and the precarious state of Jonathan’s health, he had expected some form of injury to befall him.

To drop in at this hour without a word of warning was a trifle embarrassing for him. Granted, so it must be for them to do so literally. Now that things were not in such chaos, Seward noted Mina’s paleness. His concerns were amplified. “Are you well, Mina?”

Jonathan steadied his smile, but did not shake the offered hand; he instead focused on swirling the contents of his glass. His eyes were intense as he took in the man that would know him better than his wife. He struggled to camouflage his changes now that he was back on his feet, and not fading into another creature’s consciousness.

“It is not exactly an emergency, I am afraid. Not physically, for the occurrence. It started several nights ago,” Jonathan managed as delicately as possible. He strove for kindness in his tone. “Have we disturbed you, ignoring my fall from grace?” His sincerity was decidedly lacking at the end.

Seward frowned before he recovered with a welcoming smile. Their answering expressions weren’t quite right. They felt threatening, as though there was a façade of kindness rather than a genuine endearment. Was it just that he was troubled by unspoken matters? Or that they were?

“You’ve just missed the Professor if you have need of him,” he informed them. “He’s away to Munich from here; my driver took him to the train station and ought to have returned by now. He’s away to the Munich _Leichenhaus_. The rumours say that a man was laid out, and then he...well, he was simply gone. There was a witness who claimed he walked away, and so, well...a new case to study.”

Jonathan felt Mina’s shock as clearly as his own. They hoped it came across as a surprise that another incident would occur so soon after their concerns. The two shared a look of trepidation, uneasy at the near miss. Prague it would be with resounding certainty, then. He recovered, and feigned interest.

“What a shame. Does he feel it to be a vampire?” he shrewdly hypothesised. “There have been unpleasant dreams for each of us, you see, bounced between our heads. We feel it is not from them, and, yet, perhaps more than just from ourselves.” He gave himself a put upon air. He had further names; places; situations that could be expanded upon should he be required to describe the fabricated dream in its entirety. He had proven a quick study with Mina and Lucy’s minds to guide him.

“He didn’t quite know what to think. It could just be hearsay. I would suspect body snatchers employed by the medical community of the region,” Seward noted. “You didn’t mention anything of such confusion at our last session this morning,” he, at last, pointed out gently. 

Mina stroked Jonathan’s arm. She found herself glancing at Seward’s throat but briefly. She prided herself on her restraint as she was escorted to a seat. “The fog was only noticed as we almost met disaster on the road. We managed, and still caused you a shock,” she explained. “Of course I am well, John. I look as I do, I am sure, from the disrupted sleep,” she dismissed.

“It’s just the worry that brings us to your door, and Jonathan was reluctant at first until we compared notes. I saw the women of the castle; he saw Lucy. There was such intimacy among us all. However you must feel about such an act, if you take my meaning. Perhaps we were influenced from beyond the grave.” She made her voice tremble.

Seward saw through the likely deception, but didn’t assert it was such verbally. He didn’t want to be rude. It could always be a woman in denial that she was ailing, or an argument of some repute that caused the need for such an appearance. Jonathan barely sipped his brandy, and claimed he must be clear-headed for something important. Mina declined any; odd to him, as she favoured it over sherry.

“We...we also worried for _you_ on this night, John,” Mina confided. She shared a perfectly timed look with Jonathan, as though they had finally determined it was best to admit the truth. 

“Whatever did you worry about _me_ for?” Seward asked, perplexed in his tone. “And could you provide specifics, Jonathan?” If Mina were reluctant to give them utterance, he would seek clarification from him.

Jonathan noticed his suspicion; he perceived he was watchful and took care. He felt like he needed a more suitable lie. “We know what the other knows of particular matters. We judged _you_ to be the expert. It may be transference in regards to the dreams. Did you not refer to such a matter in regard to emotional attachment once, and how it might lead one to ruin if given to an unworthy individual? In light of certain facets of our experiences, could it not be feasible with dream manipulation?”

He paused. “As Mina inferred, each of us has felt the demon that was closest to them when in an altered state of consciousness, yet they were reversed.”

Jonathan’s next words were sly, yet could not be held back; nor, it seemed, could he play at innocent intentions for an extended period of time. “The things I saw within such a vision were vile. The experiences were almost...deliciously wicked. Have you not had such dreams yourself, John? Not a one? We grow curious.” His implications could be taken one way or another. He played coy. “You were present for the deaths of the Count, as well as Lucy.”

Mina inclined her head, picking up the thread of conversation. “It was an odd experience, yes. Private. Unnerving. There were cries in the night. It ought to have wounded us and left us a shell of ourselves for the reminder of such heights of passion, though, transferred. And yet, it did not. And so, we come to you for aid.” And, perhaps, more she left unstated. She hoped he would find the hidden nugget. There was enough to intrigue him, and concern his sensibilities. “We thought of you at such a moment.”

Her smile was a deliberate mirror of Jonathan’s. That was only natural, given the same mind was behind his intriguing theories, and guided his behaviours. “It is three months to the day of Lucy’s death, John. Why would we not come to your side?”

Seward looked into his brandy glass. They wove a tale of supernatural phenomenon admirably, yet it rang hollow in the end. As the two continued to speak, Seward watched; he believed he detected something. If he hadn’t been watching so closely, and was not beginning to suspect them of a minor subterfuge, he would not have noticed the looks and prompts Mina gave in strange little tells.

Those mannerisms altered the phrasings of Jonathan’s words; he would pause in mid-sentence and change course. It would have been written off as something that occurred between a married couple, were it not for the fact that it happened frequently even when Jonathan wasn’t looking at her.

And, on his part, Jonathan was entirely different in personality from this morning. There was an unexplained wrongness barely contained and threatening to burst forth, much like when he had been locked in the cells. It was like someone else was looking out of his eyes and using his body. Jonathan was simply calculating and strange in a manner he had not seen since he was freed.

Seward normally prided himself on how he handled patients. He felt that he had a particularly good rapport with Jonathan. They had become close in the days following events. They knew each other; he was his friend, as well as his patient.

He felt like _that_ man was not, presently, the guest in his home. His intuition had brought him far enough when it came to the Count in the past. It had yet to lead him astray. Studying their faces, and hearing them speak, Seward wondered. Mina was dedicated; loving; kind; devoted. She was a steadfast wife, as well as his dearest of friends. Mina felt wrong. He just couldn’t get a handle on what it was, but her personality felt malignant.

The Jonathan before him was a lofty stranger. He felt him to be frosty and withdrawn, once the forced cheeriness was discarded. If he had seen _this_ incarnation of the man in his offices, he might have called him manipulative. Or even outright dangerous, and requested that he not darken his door again.

As they spoke of the theory of transference and clung fast to it, he hid his true concerns as best he could. If Mina’s pallor was not an indicator of some illness, or even disrupted sleep, then what was it? He didn’t want it to be vampires. He didn’t want Jonathan to fall in with such a creature again. And yet, it made sense. Was Seward being paranoid? Was he merely up too late, with a mind alight with the Professor’s theories? He desired a better reason for this visit than they stated.

And the nerve of such a question from Jonathan! He wouldn’t regale him with tales of sordid dreams. Seward refrained from acknowledging his question for fear he would stammer in outrage. And yet, he caught a flash of dark humour from the solicitor as the silence stretched out before them. 

“The gravity of such a feat may be considered astounding to some. I’m sorry, Jonathan,” he scoffed with a careful laugh. “I’m sceptical. I am not a believer in such a thing; I find it to be balderdash, though the Professor may very well find that some merit exists. I fear that, perhaps, the two of you spoke of horror and your dreaming minds took advantage. Your dreams entangled you in…in other baser matters, and left you confused.” 

No, such talk was more in the wheelhouse of spiritualists and charlatans. Seward sought to placate the couple and observe further. He needed ammunition for anything before he could continue. “Did you merely wish to offer me company?” He gently wondered. He didn’t try to hurl accusations, lest the man retreat into his shell.

 _That_ was the real Jonathan. He was kind. He was a reasonable soul that was concerned for others. He was devoted; yes, his curiosity had brought him into a vampire’s arms once and he was ordinarily skittish and concerned at any reminder as a result, but that wasn’t the man’s fault. He never desired to cause a scene. 

An eerie smile bloomed across Jonathan’s face as he began to answer. “In a fashion, Dr Seward,” he murmured. “There was little choice in the matter.” That, at least, was honest. While he had little choice in his affairs, he had to admit this was fun.

Seward was proud of himself for not falling apart. They might have each sought him out for consolation, but not for an intricate seduction or deception if he read those descriptors accurately. At least, not in this manner for the former action. “And...of course you are right as to the date,” Seward finally acknowledged, his sorrow breaking through. “Thank you.”

Mina’s gaze was intense as she rose. She must escalate matters. She moved closer to his side, and placed her hands in his. He instinctively held them closer, before the shock of the cold was noticed; he let go. When she put her hand up to stroke his face, he backed away. She moved forward relentlessly, and placed her palm over his heart. “Oh, John. You cannot bear a simple hand in yours? You cannot accept my love? Such a tragedy.”

“Mrs Harker,” he began. He retreated into formality when cornered; having noticed, he began again. “Jonathan...Mina...I don’t know what you both expect of me.” He was flustered, and feeling more certain by the minute that this was the work of something supernatural. Their direct approach in the wake of sordid implications left him reeling. That touch was not her way of offering consolation. He had felt such a touch of shared bereavement the night the Count died. This was not that!

Seward felt like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. He stepped aside and avoided her eyes. Something about them screamed he should not look. And, when Jonathan spoke further, he felt he should term them wolves in the plural. There was an air about him. Jonathan was seemingly in control of himself, but he was not as he ought to be.

“We thought we might share an intimacy, of sorts, Dr Seward. We spoke of others. We spoke of the dead, yet not ourselves,” Jonathan enigmatically murmured over his glass. He amended himself, and spoke in a friendlier manner. Or, at least, a facsimile of one. “John, we’ve come to share the secrets of our lives. Why not a score more?”

“I doubt I could carry on in such a manner as you appear to require, Jonathan,” Seward admitted, after choosing his words carefully. He felt as though he was treading on treacherous ground. He couldn’t keep up. “There would be talk. Rumours. You know how people are prone to gossip.” This physical approach unnerved him. He didn’t feel entirely relieved when Mina returned to sitting beside her husband.

“Isn’t there always talk among the townsfolk? Perhaps, even, about my previous state of mind?” Jonathan pondered in a sly manner. There was truly no possible way to deny such had been spread. They knew better than that. He glanced at Mina, as she suggested further ways they might sway him to their cause. Yes; a bit more pressure was engaged to make the man think. “Are you not lonely here?”

“Yes, John,” Mina contributed. “It is just you, and Mrs Hoskins; a maid; a driver; a butler, presently out for the evening. You have your attendants. You have no intimates within these walls. You are secluded; tucked away, without your Professor to be your mentor. You are...vulnerable to outside influence, one might say. Do you not desire to see the world or yourself with new eyes? Lucy was lost to you, John.”

She sought to put pressure upon his mind, but he refused to look her in the eyes. She wanted to growl, but felt that would give the game away far too soon. Her hunger was rising, and making a delicate performance fraught with peril. 

“You could have a new way of thinking before the night is out,” Jonathan firmly noted as he swirled the remaining contents of his glass. They wished to make him think of himself as isolated. A reassuring smile fell flat. When he glanced at Seward, though, his eyes told another story. They were not filled with candour, but something cruel. As though he supposed he were caught, it was hidden away again.

“Sometimes consolation can be found in odd avenues, as one does something they don’t feel to be of their own character,” Seward carefully retorted. He desired to continue as the amenable host, but such was not to be. If he felt this were truly them, that was his way of saying he could look beyond this night. They could remain on good terms. He might have even entertained such thoughts as they implied, but not like this. “Where is this coming from? Do not say it was the dreams, I beg of you.”

“He has had a revelation on this night, because of me,” Mina admitted serenely as she took Jonathan's hand. They must appear as though they were united by this. "We are of a like mind tonight."

“And all the nights to come. Yes; situations and their standings have changed,” Jonathan chuckled cryptically. “We can see, however, that particular methods do not bear fruit. And so our company becomes another sort than we implied. Consider us friends, and no more than that. We should have enjoyed cleaving to one another tightly for solace, in the wake of a dark time.”

His smile held no love; no light; not a sign of the comfort his words might project. He gestured, as though the last few minutes were meaningless small talk. He felt only gratification at unnerving the man from their pantomime.

Seward quietly sat back in his chair. He strove to quell his worry enough, so that it would not appear on his face. Finally, his fears were such that he chose to make his excuses.“If you’ll pardon me, I need to write a note. It’s about a patient that implied they were in a spot of trouble; the wire came after dinner, but before you. Mrs H had best send my reply by messenger, before I forget,” he smiled politely as he made to rise. He placed his glass down with great care.

“Of course,” Jonathan agreed, though an air of mild distaste broke through. It was quickly concealed, and insincere politeness returned to the surface. “We’ll keep ourselves entertained until your good company returns to us.” He, too, could read someone’s body language and unearth deceit. It came with the territory, especially when the Count put him into his power. He was lied to daily in the cells, primarily as a deterrent for especially lurid outbursts. In fact, through Mina, he could smell the man’s fear. It was _delicious_.

As Seward departed the room, Jonathan rose; he put his own drink softly down on the mantelpiece. The smile was discarded as the ruse was concluded. All pretences were dispatched. There was malice in his eyes, as his purpose shone through. He felt Mina’s pleasure coursing ever stronger through their link, and inclined his head. He had his instructions; he knew what he must do.

Silently, he followed his doctor. As he walked, his movements changed with each step. He felt himself growing more dangerous, as he was wedded further to the beast within Mina. 

He was her protector, after all. And she had her needs.


	5. Chapter 5

Feeling unnerved, Seward retreated into his private office and softly closed the door. He doubted a turn of the lock would afford him safety, and so it went undone. He bent over his desk and tried to think of a way to get help; a way to escape; something that would ensure someone would be warned. A glance at the window showed he was trapped within these walls by the accursed fog. It swirled and roiled in a fashion that practically mocked his plight.

He sighed, and sought to get a hold of himself. He was in dire straits indeed if he were falling prey to the temptation of anthropomorphism when the weather was involved. He saw that his coat was tossed over his chair in a haphazard manner. He could grab that soon enough. Yes; it was best to be armed. Truly, he longed for an armoury. His mind turned to holy water. Had the Professor stashed any away? No; of course he hadn't.

Seward put his hands on his head for a moment, overwhelmed and uncertain. The more the couple had spoken, the greater his certainty. What was his evidence? Their behaviours were, to put it quite simply, wrong for them. While their manners were not deplorable, their mannerisms seemed off for them, just as he had pondered while still in their presence.

He had seen how pale Mina was; he recalled Jonathan’s worry earlier in the day. The major tell was noted in exactly how changed Jonathan was from that last session, and how Mina had not set foot inside until prompted with an invitation.

They might have waited until daylight, yet chose to spring this on him at night. While the evidence was circumstantial for vampires, it was also such the last time with but a recognisable face enmeshed in the etchings of a book. He had listened to his instincts, though they were of a jealous bent then, and proven to be accurate. He trusted his fears were quantifiable and therefore well-founded again, and not to be deemed inappropriate or garish.

Seward’s stomach churned with displeasure at being enmeshed in such a situation. What did he know? He began to try to piece things together further, and think like the man of science that he was. He must exercise an abundance of caution if he were to bluff or blunder his way out of this. He would catalogue further differences.

If vampires were afoot, then Jonathan had crossed the threshold without issue. Albeit, he had crossed it with a decided thump. He would have almost said the same for Mina, but recalled she only entered after he urged for her assistance. There was his mysterious manner, wherein he had faded out for a few seconds. If there had been anything to it with this talk of bad dreams of this calibre, surely it ought to have come up sooner. Seward truly hoped he was mistaken.

There was also that frightful chill to Mina’s touch. He had felt such with the Count, when he had shaken his hand. He pondered his next move. He would find a way to send word to the Professor in a circumspect manner. He closed his eyes and thought quickly. Yes, he had it! It must be written with care, but what would the contents be? Where would a vampire seek shelter? What name would tell everything?

On a slip of paper, he quietly wrote the word _Glebe_. He folded it methodically, but quickly. Before he could conceal it within the room or deliver it to Mrs Hoskins to fulfil that fabrication of a telegraphed communique, a hand snatched it away. Seward gasped, startled; he had thought he was alone, and now the paper was out of reach. He hadn’t heard the approach of the solicitor, or even the slightest of creaks from the hinges.

“I had hoped my theory would prove unsound,” Seward weakly explained, even as the other man moved backwards with a small shrug.

Jonathan quietly read the single word in florid cursive. Coldly, he raised a brow, before he smirked at the baffled horror on Seward’s face. The good doctor momentarily turned from him, to the door and back, and, at last, Jonathan understood his confusion. No, he had not manifested from thin air like a spirit. No, he didn’t have his own powers at his disposal; he had no such arsenal in his bag of tricks. He was merely light on his feet.

The hinges were oiled in the not-too-distant past by whatever servant was in charge of that. The floorboards were not ill-used, and therefore did not mar his surprise for a sudden creak. Jonathan threw another look to him as he ventured closer to the hearth. Let his methods appear supernatural to the other man; it entertained him to appear so mysterious to such a well-educated doctor. It was so simple that he could not contain the mockery in his eyes, even as he crumpled the paper into a ball. With a quick hum of a jaunty tune, he tossed it into the flames.

The desperately penned note crackled as it hit the conflagration. So swiftly was it consumed that it was almost not a suitable finale. It likely didn’t take much longer until Seward’s hopes for intervention were equal in their destruction.

“No,” Jonathan softly replied. Only now would he answer that false supposition. “So many things have changed for us, but you remain observant to a fault. Would that you were not,” he declared with a small smile. A coy roguishness entered his eyes. “Don’t raise a hullabaloo, Dr Seward; it isn’t polite, and others may be harmed, as well as yourself.” He didn’t particularly _want_ to hurt him. He had been so kind to him in that dreary cell, but if Mina made him do so, he could not disobey.

Mina entered the room and took in the scene; Seward looked from her, to the mirror on the shelf. As if there had been any doubt, there was no reflection to show that she was present. Jonathan could see his expression; he followed his gaze and nodded. “It is all laid bare for you, Dr Seward. There cannot be a denial from us in the face of that, now can there?” He provided one reluctant shrug. “Our offer of before was soundly beaten. You never once looked long enough upon her for her to set your soul ablaze with desire.”

One way of gaining assistance was therefore blocked to Seward. He wouldn’t endanger Mrs Hoskins. She couldn’t be exposed to such horrors, nor should anyone else presently wandering his halls. Fear for the Weston household almost strangled him. “Have the two of you harmed anyone?” He wondered as he fought to conceal his terror. He did a poor job of it.

“You are first and more shall follow,” Jonathan rationally explained. Mina allowed him to reveal so much of this plan, for there was nothing to conceal. “They must feed; you know that. It is rude to deny them. But Mrs Weston and the rest are spared from harm; it is you that the Mistress wants...my wife; whichever you feel I should stick with, for I am allowed to speak freely.” He glanced at Mina; she nodded to confirm to him that, yes, an invitation should be extended.

“I want you to think about what you’re doing,” Seward pleaded. He must get through to him! If he could, then together they could stop Mina from creating others of her kind. He must overthrow that desire to be her mouthpiece and daytime protector. It was not too late for Jonathan, but it was for his wife. They could find Professor Van Helsing, and stamp out what he truly hoped was the last of the Count’s curse.

Jonathan gave him a small bow, as though to mock the very idea. “There will be no fight for my soul this go around, Dr Seward. There will be no bolts or bars this time to keep me separated from them.” His smile was just as large as when he had served the Count. “ _They_ are everlasting. My destiny recurs and is doubly sweet. You cannot raise questions of self-doubt within a man when he is certain of his place in the world.” His voice trailed off as a certain someone scratched at the door of his mind.

“He is beyond such potential for torment, John. I am a far more generous ruler than the Count,” Mina informed him as she reached for Jonathan's hand. Each squeezed the other's palm, with a fond expression. On the surface, they appeared to be a couple content with themselves in all ways.

Seward hoped for a more expeditious route to Jonathan, despite those threats. Even if he denied feelings of uncertainty, he may yet cause him to think. He opted to speak further. Seward’s life might be forfeit; however, he had just gained a promise that the lives of those within these walls were otherwise not condemned to the fangs of a vampire. Or, of course, whatever Jonathan should be compelled to do. He watched them, careful and afraid. He chose another method.

“You wanted me to believe your prevarication. There were holes in it, for I recall that Jonathan told you all of the particulars of those women when he was released from the Count’s control. I suppose you had little time to prepare,” Seward pondered as carefully as he could. Perhaps his role as a healer hoping to offer ideas could have the potential to draw Jonathan out of this quicksand of horror. “If you wanted to make it truly believable, why did you not bite your husband’s wrist, Mina?”

Seward moved to put a table between them; he leant against the wall, even as Mina’s face spoke of danger; it grew feral as she perused his throat. He stammered the rest in a rush. “I--I merely say that you might have then stated the Count haunted your dreams from beyond the grave, and you therefore desired to save Jonathan's soul before particular things got underway and corrupted _him_!”

His eyes moved back to his coat, still innocuously draped over the back of the chair. He used this discussion to casually edge closer to it. As though he was simply chilled by the talk of such things, he quietly put it on. It would also appear as though he wanted to lay a barrier upon his delicate veins, no matter how futile it was.

Jonathan lunged as though he would throttle him for the very suggestion that Mina had overlooked something, before he stopped. His head tilted as he listened to words whispered into his mind. Mina confirmed it was well that it was brought up. She curled up in his mind as the two of them crafted a ruse ever darker. He returned to her side, as his eyes became alight with wonder.

Jonathan and Mina shared a wry grin. Even if it had not occurred to them, she would have been driven into a frenzy of need and, potentially, caused him bodily harm in the process. She was too new for more restraint than taking from him a single drop of blood. Jonathan was the one who spoke for them even as Mina trailed a finger down his back almost seductively. He felt the proper answer forming, and simply gave it a voice. "We are taking that under advisement, should we require such subterfuge with the Professor." 

“What have I done?” Seward muttered to himself. He should not have entered into a battle of wits with these two; when a man is wrapped in the control of a vampire, their former attitudes are discarded. He should have remembered that. His attempt to wake the real Jonathan up had gone horribly wrong. Would the Professor realise what they were before they struck at whatever time they so desired?

Jonathan’s smile filled with wicked pleasure, then, as his gaze raised upwards towards the ceiling. A small thump was heard; he saw through Lucy’s eyes and felt that she was alight with anticipation. “She listens from the roof,” he mused aloud. For a moment, he was distracted as he listened to coveted utterances from Lucy, as well as Mina within his mind. That distraction almost proved to be their undoing. 

“ _Who_ listens?” From Seward, it came more as a frustrated demand than a question. Even as he spoke, he acted to use what little protection he possessed. He quickly pulled a crucifix from his pocket; he rarely went without it these days, in a testament to what he had gone through. Such popery still chafed him, even if it was a requirement these days.

His coat had been parted from him while he was distracted by after dinner cigars, or he might have tested them. He only wished he hadn’t forgotten the Latin prayers. The Professor had insisted on memorisation, and, while Seward hadn’t outright mocked it, he had evidently put it off once too often. 

Mina whirled away as she recoiled in pain, hissing; Seward sighed and knew grief. He remembered what a kind soul and wonderful friend she was in the wake of Lucy’s death. And even before, as he had once poured out all his fears and jealousies of Lucy being in the presence of the Count, and of Lucy’s wrongly perceived callousness, into her friendly ear. He hated to do this to her, but he was now to fight for his life and soul.

“You shan’t put that down, John?” Mina asked with a voice that sounded strained from agony. There was still a threatening undertone to it; she was not fully at his mercy, oh, no. She would not be cowed down. She only briefly turned to face the corner, when she could bear the sight of the religious icon no longer.

“No,” Seward sternly returned. And then, softer, he added more. “I’m sorry.” For how it had come to this; for what she had become; for it happening on the anniversary of Lucy’s death. He was resolved to holding her off; that much was firm within his heart, provided she did not force him to lower his arm. He recalled that the Count had. He noted with concern that it looked as though Jonathan was experiencing a fraction of her pain, as he began to clutch his head. And then Mina turned to stare with vibrant red eyes at Jonathan.

Jonathan started as Mina flowed over his mind like ink. He darted forward and twisted Seward’s wrist with surprising strength. While his eyes were placid, his lips bore a smirk of triumph. Seward dropped his only weapon to the floor; Jonathan scooped it up and bounded to the table. He shut it quickly away, panting heavily with pain not his own. His eyes were alight with intrigue as he resurfaced from the tumult of Mina’s presence overlaying his own and temporarily blotting him out.

“I tried with my hands and little else when I first knew of her changed nature, John. I was deterred as easily as you,” Jonathan warned. “I had more force within me to deter you this time, but it was loaned by others.” He suspected Lucy had helped, though he could not swear to it; Mina's was the prominent will impressed upon him. He made a face. “Don’t try to make a cross with your fingers; I doubt they’ll be sympathetic. Nor will I.” 

“That is...duly noted,” Seward gingerly observed. He should quite like to keep his fingers unbroken. Did he have anything else on him? He wished he had kept the garlic, but it had grown rotten after too much time lying about.

“He channelled me,” Mina smiled proudly. “I guided his hand.” Indeed, through him, she had felt the touch of the crucifix. Her palm was burnt, but beginning to heal even as they watched. Jonathan crept back to her side and, when it was gone, he lovingly stroked the unbroken skin. She reached up and stroked his temple for an instant, soothing and erasing the echo of her agony.

Jonathan relaxed, bending closer to kiss her cheek. He turned a suspicious look Seward's way. “I will see to the invitation. Do not try such foolishness again.” With that, he moved out to the hall. He heard a short-lived tussle behind him, but supposed Mina had it well in hand.

The drawing room was theirs, as was that private office; he opened the door and paused at the front step. He stared eagerly into the night, as he awaited some signal to inform him of his next move. His eyes rolled up; he could see himself being watched through that link in a disorientating manner.

Lucy landed on all fours in front of him, having dropped down from the roof above. Without that odd vision, he might have been startled. He had grown dubious over a thought of rushing across the grounds with a handicap of fog to hamper his actions, if she _had_ strayed.

Jonathan stretched out a hand to implore her to enter. “We are ready for your appearance, my Mistress; my Lucy,” he noted, eyes gleaming with excitement. “He is disarmed, and so we invite you safely into his abode.” He noted the pleasure that came when she accepted his chivalry, and allowed him to escort her even for a short distance.

With that, arm-in-arm, the two of them quietly slipped indoors. Lucy’s sensitive ears were picking up a hushed conversation, as well as the presence of the help throughout the house. She really ought to have claimed John that night in the crypt. However, it would be much more rewarding to take him away from the Professor. “Go on ahead. We’ll see what his reaction is to the sight of me,” she whispered to him. She doubted it would be delight.

As Jonathan returned to the room, he took in the scene; he knew that the doctor could never have overwhelmed his Mina. Indeed, Seward wished to know what was happening. Mina had evidently frisked him, and the contents of his pockets lay in a pile upon the table. They were nothing more harmful than a calling card for his bank; his cheque book; keys, and his fob watch.

“The last of our number approaches,” Jonathan informed them. His tone was filled with cruel pleasure. He relished this hour, and wished Lucy could draw it out. Of course, the sun had to rise sometime and put a halt to the proceedings. 

“Who the devil is out there?” Seward ground out. He couldn’t make demands when he was so vulnerable. Their manner of remaining mysterious made him fret more than he already was. It didn’t buoy his spirits in the slightest. It only agitated him. He had found that he made a poor hostage, for he objected to being manhandled. The disgruntled gentleman grimaced as his side was pressed into a sharp corner of the bookshelf.

“Not the devil; never that,” came a voice that Seward knew all too well. He had thought he would never hear it again in this lifetime. The sound of it left him frozen in place. He tensed, even as Mina let him go; dimly, he felt a keen relief from that front, for she had been sniffing around his neck even as she restrained him. From the rustle of her dresses; a footstep; murmuring voices, he knew that Jonathan and Mina had retreated to the back of the room. 

Slowly, Seward turned around. His heart was filled to bursting with hope and dread and wonder. He was scarcely able to breathe. There was Lucy, now restored to a semblance of life. There was Lucy, a vampire once more. She was dressed exactly as she had been her final night in the crypt, when he had almost gone to her. She was just as pale. She was just as unnaturally beautiful. The shock of seeing that face, that _woman_ , returned to him left him reeling.

He blinked quickly. The shock caused him to feel unwell; sparks danced whenever he closed his eyes. He forced them open; he needed to focus. He tried to find the right words for his late fiancée. They were not forthcoming. “Lucy,” he managed, voice strained. He felt as though he were choking, but sought to continue once he drew a steadier breath.

He couldn’t look away, as a dazed horror coupled with pleasure, and sought an entrance into his soul. He scarcely dared to hope for a good outcome. His nerves were threadbare. “They brought you back, after...after...the Professor’s actions were implemented.” Words failed him at that place. He knew what was done. He knew his part in it, even if he had been clutching the flowers and weeping in the corner. What did she have in store for him?

“Yes, John,” Lucy softly agreed. The anguish and terror of a stake plunging into a vital organ could never be taken away. “After your _sainted_ Professor ruthlessly drove a _stake_ through my _heart_. After he took away what was so gladly provided by the Count,” she snarled in quiet fury. The rage was not directed at John, but at the man who wielded the hammer. Before she could urge him to step into her arms, or most likely toss him into Mina’s, something else occurred.

Seward fainted dead away. Mina darted forward, a blur to mortal eyes. She caught the man just before his head could hit the ground; she had anticipated that might be a reaction to expect, under the circumstances. She held him in her arms, much as Jonathan had held her when they stepped across the threshold as newly-weds.

Lucy blinked, as startled by that outcome as Jonathan was; she had supposed weeping might occur. Jonathan made an aborted move as though to assist his wife, and then stepped back a pace when he found it unnecessary. Lucy wrapped an arm around Jonathan’s shoulders, mentally guiding him to where the best spot would be to view such a momentous occasion.

Mina’s eyes fixed on the pulse at John's neck. She licked her lips. Her eyes burnt brighter; her hunger could now be sated. It had been stalled long enough. She put him down on the divan almost lovingly, and moved his head into a better position. She smiled, even as she craned her neck. As her fangs extended, she struck the jugular with precision. She began to drink the warm blood. It was delicious; it was _exquisite_ as it flowed into her mouth. 

It was exactly as she had dreamt it would be. She gulped more of it down, giving a small moan of pleasure from the ecstasy of what amounted to her true first taste. One lone drop of blood trailed down Seward’s neck; he gave a quiet groan, still mostly unconscious. 

She only took the amount that was to be expected of her in her hunger; she only took enough from him that he could revive before dawn. Her face lifted up, bloody from her actions. She licked away some of the excess before it could fall and stain anything. Smiling, she turned to Jonathan and Lucy. They looked upon her with both barely restrained pleasure and approval.

A gasp came from behind them. All three whirled to see who had intruded on this private moment. 


	6. Chapter 6

Mrs Hoskins had stumbled upon a grisly scene. She had not expected to find her employer now strewn dead upon the furniture; she had not anticipated a woman risen from the grave, once engaged to that man. She could never have dreamt of seeing his friends as the cause of it, or a woman’s face smeared with blood. She had only heard a minor bit of discord; she had only presumed it was to eventually be a late night requiring hot tea and a blanket for her favourite doctor.

“ _Oh_ , Mrs Harker,” she managed in her distress. “Your _face_!” The housekeeper felt her legs go weak. Her body grew numb from the terror as she bumped into the wall. Jonathan quickly moved her way and extricated the tea tray from her grasp. He had anticipated the fact that she may drop it in her shock and sought to act. As the elder woman made as though she would scream, Jonathan turned his eyes upon the women, with more than a hint of desperation. 

Beside him, Lucy closed the door and locked it to prevent anyone else from entering. She waved a hand that was bent like claws, and the woman fell into a trance instead of giving a cry that would rouse whoever remained in the household. Jonathan nodded to her, grateful that she made quick work of that. The tray was dropped onto a nearby table with a soft clatter.

“We shall leave her that way for now,” Lucy murmured. “Wait for John to rise. He wasn’t drained nightly like me. He hasn’t opened his veins to revive another in months. He should be quick about it.” Lucy wiped a smear of blood from John’s lips, and took a taste; Mina had initiated the change in the confusion of that woman's interruption.

She stroked the cheek of the man, though he was, presently, dead. She moved to another chair and quietly sat down so that she may begin her vigil. She knew that John was always punctual; she doubted that he would change when it came to extracting himself from the jaws of death.

Jonathan sat down beside the entranced woman, perched and ready to observe a revival into undeath for himself. He wasn’t present for Lucy; he was at home, with his thoughts, when Mina had transformed. He glanced uncomfortably at the insensate housekeeper, until he remembered that the mesmeric state could not wear off until Lucy desired it. It would take the mental strength of giants to snap out of it without aid.

As thirty minutes of death trickled to a close, life was restored in a rush. Seward’s eyes opened wide as he revived on the divan. His neck felt pained, although his last firm recollection was seeing Lucy’s animated face before him. She was alive! He noted that the descriptor was wholly inaccurate these days. The woman was passionate, yes; spirited; alive, not so much, given her status. His remembrances went grey at that point, so he must have collapsed. Had she bitten him? 

No, _Mina_ had done that. Mina had left her mark upon his throat. He could not determine just how he knew, but his blood metaphorically boiled with passion at the thought of her; he could divine her presence without thought. He touched his throat. While the flow had stopped however long ago it was that he had died, a bit of red was still sticky on his fingers.

He wanted to taste it, but supposed that would not be enough. _His_ blood would do nothing to stem the hunger. It would be like giving brandy to a man dying of thirst. He slowly grinned as Mina stepped to the side of the divan; she lightly sat down beside him. He felt stronger than he had before. “It _was_ you, then?”

Mina touched his cheek, and hoped he would never faint in such a manner again. It was unseemly for one of their kind to behave in such a manner. It could lead to disaster for him if he did so upon being confronted with a hunter of their kind. “Yes, John,” she purred into his ear. “Welcome to a dream beyond imagination. We wanted you with us. How do you feel? Do you find the experience to be favourable?”

Seward glanced beyond her. Jonathan remained in his seat, though practically beamed with delight. Lucy was glancing out the window, but he saw a knowing smile cross her face. Slowly, a contemplative smile formed on his. “Parched. Famished. Take your pick,” he whispered to Mina in a low tone that he felt was similar to hers. His thoughts could best be termed as base; _immoral_.

He felt like the Professor would be fascinated by both his physical and psychological alterations; he would surely catalogue each organ’s lost activity, such as the heart’s newfound uselessness. Truly, however, Seward thought he would drain him dry before he could begin any experimentation, or employ the natural progression from there: a stake through his former student’s heart.

He pondered that thought, as well as his enjoyment of it. He took stock of his emotional state. He sat up, and placed his hand over hers. “I feel incredible, Mina. Of course I approve of your actions. This is a _gift_.” The hunger was evident in his features. There was no holding it back. Something jabbed his lip; ah, it was merely those rat-like fangs which had chosen to present themselves. He was already looking forward to when he could put them to work. Mina’s mind caressed his.

A vision flooded through his being. He could _taste_ the rich blood which had formerly pumped through his veins, through Mina’s recollections. He needed more, even before he had tasted a single drop. He thought to chastise her for the ruination of his control before it could be formed, but dismissed the notion. The passion was overflowing; he should have felt it previously, were he conscious.

Would he be deterred? He glanced at Jonathan when he could stand it no more; he experienced permission from all parties before reticence could trickle in. Of course, he doubted that any should remain from his living days. So it would not become too painful for either of them, he retracted the fangs with effort. They would be in the way, though he still ached with need.

Seward clutched her tightly. It was not as fumbling as he had foreseen. He kissed her with more heat than he had touched anyone as a mortal. He no longer cared for propriety; this new world was too enticing. Neither of them had to breathe, so it lasted longer than could be proper. At last, they broke away.

Mina brushed his face with the back of her hand. “Very good, John. You feel as much for me as I do for Lucy. We are all connected by our blood.” She rose, casting a jaunty eye at the other vampire over her shoulder. She would be the teacher again. “The fledgling is loyal to the sire, John. We feel a heightened passion for each other,” she stated with a coquettish air. The Professor’s books had explicitly stated that such would be the case. They had proven their accuracy.

That knowledge was filed away for later perusal. He supposed it could be entertaining. As he rose to stand, Seward turned to gaze upon Lucy, then, with a mildly cross expression. However did she manage to return to this state? He didn’t quite know what to say, though he welcomed the new sensations that it appeared were at his disposal. And yet, despite her surprises on this night, the mild rebuke died on his tongue before it could be uttered.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes with a soft growl. He didn’t quite like the gas lights, but one couldn’t be picky after such events in their own home. And there was dear Mrs Hoskins, seemingly not fit for company. Her head was in a position that should surely leave her with an aching back, if not a crick or fangs in her tempting neck. He heard her heart beating, and knew she was not dead. She only rested, relieved from her duties by a trance.

“Which of you two wondrous ladies did that to her?” He casually wondered as he gestured towards his housekeeper. That moment had not been shared; he was not privy to it through Mina’s mental transference. He scarcely recalled her entrance; he was preoccupied, and undoubtedly unconscious at the instant the lady had appeared. Or, of course, he may have also been deceased. “And how much time did I take to revive? Have I put a damper on your plans?”

Lucy smiled in a way that could almost be described as gentle. “It was I. She came in at a bad moment, drawn by either the noise of our containment of you, or your moan, I should think.” It was a sound that couldn’t be helped at all. Mina had made the same little noises when her teeth had entered her throat, in the past and on this night.

“Scarcely half an hour,” Mina revealed. While Jonathan had kept a close eye on the clock, she and Lucy had sensed the time down to the second via a wonder that kept the same pace; such would be necessary to evade the sun. “You did quite well, John. I was already brushing up against such a thing, so it took me mere seconds.” To his last question, she shook her head.

“Of course. Ah, Mrs H. You usually have the best timing,” he mused with delight as he hovered over her. He caught himself before his hand could reach out and fiddle with her lace collar. “Perhaps she _did_. I—I find that I should quite like to sup from _her_ veins first, if it’s no trouble.” He rationalised the thought of drinking from her veins, and hoped to sway the others to his cause. “She has always tended to my needs. Could she not do so one last time?”

Jonathan was uncertain and looked from Seward to the housekeeper, before he reached for the tendrils of Mina occupying his head. He had almost suggested that very idea himself. Now, though, he thought to sway them from this notion. He doubted it was endorsed by these ladies, but, for once, he could not be certain through their connection. It was not guilt or horror driving him, for the events before him were beautiful.

No, no, it was self-preservation. Jonathan sighed and looked to his wife; his Mistress above all, though shared; his Mina, for guidance and reason. He felt a modicum of temptation in her. “If he should drain her, eyes fall upon us. If we should take her as our own, is that not too many gone without explanation? If he should kill her, word would certainly reach the Professor with alarming speed. Would that it were otherwise.” He took her hands, and concluded gently. “You will be hunted. He’ll hurt you.”

Then, he amended that. “All of you.” He, too, felt a great disappointment at not immediately viewing the doctor’s first kill.

Mina kissed Jonathan, understanding what he was on about. His allegiance could never be questioned. Her husband was nervous; her husband was protective, and he was correct. She turned a careful eye to Seward, who was evidently trying hard but near to breaking from the hunger that came when one had newly risen.

“Jonathan is right; Lucy has already erased her memory of our appearance. Your Mrs Hoskins is not to be harmed on this night, or any other. That wretched man almost certainly has his spies,” Mina snarled. Her tone grew gentle, though she was prepared to chastise him if necessary. “John, do you understand me?”

At length, after an obvious inner battle, he conceded. “Yes,” Seward replied, though his voice carried with it an air of ill-concealed frustration. Then, his thoughts changed course, as he gave another consideration his full attention. There was a man filled with hot blood presently among them. The very man who had cast aside his thought to drink from a servant near and dear to his formerly beating heart.

“A horse is still employable for your hunger,” Jonathan jovially offered. “I should advise you not to take too much from him, should the steed be your blood source.” He chuckled at the ridiculousness of the request. “What am I saying? _I_ require the carriage, even should you three opt for flight over my mere pedestrian ways for a spell. Both must live so that I might gallop away with a pack of vampires and reach the sanctuary of Glebe House at sunrise, should we be detained.”

He made the mistake of locking eyes with Seward. He saw a gloating look to them; an appraising expression formed. He hadn’t thought looking would harm him, being in their employ. It wasn’t the same with Mina and Lucy. This felt oppressing, and then his thoughts were not even the grim and twisted amount they had become.

“Excuse us, ladies. I do trust that I have a better scheme to put forth to our recently departed doctor. I should like us to discuss it in privacy, just the two of us. Man-to-man,” Jonathan heard himself say; he felt himself putting on the air of one desiring that it might be a noble surprise. It was an illusion, for beneath it, his voice was more detached than humorous.

He found himself encouraged to erect a façade in his mind as well; those red eyes were so well-versed in being subtle with patients, while Jonathan had become the same with deceit. The world grew distant to him; muted. Conscious thought was almost erased, but his face didn’t grow slack. He was almost a sleepwalker moving through a dream world even as the women pondered leaving the room. 

Mina and Lucy shared a dubious expression, but acquiesced. Out of respect, they would allow the men to conspire. “We’ll have some much needed talk, while you boys iron out those details,” Lucy hummed. She tugged Mina’s hand, though both felt something wasn’t quite right.

They stepped into the adjoining bedroom, as they could not wander further afield. It would be such a chore to mesmerise the _entire_ household if someone else accidentally saw Lucy. They sensed an air of playfulness emanating from Jonathan’s mind as though to assuage their worries, though it rang hollow. 

“He’s very malleable, is he not?” Mina hinted with good cheer; the expression was but an illusion. It wouldn’t do to misunderstand her husband’s motivations. Yes, the very thing they had created was a potential exploit; a vulnerability now being employed against one of their own, though he hadn’t any fangs. It felt like a breach of etiquette to do that which they believed was occurring. 

“ _There_ , Lucy,” Mina hissed before either could sit on the bed. The women looked at each other in a mixture of worry and disgust. Had they truly been blocked from him?

Jonathan moved first one foot forward and then another without even intending to do so. He was too vulnerable; it was too easy to access his mind; he was too open to interference. Quietly, eyes locked on Seward’s as they stepped ever closer, Jonathan began to roll up his cuffs. He was very tempted to offer up his wrist. He must allow him better access.

He found the strength to struggle because of his loyalty. His movements were against his wants, and so grew fitful for a moment. Jonathan’s eyes wandered towards where the women had gone, before he heard a single word in his mind. **_‘No.’_** The desire to act against their wishes was against his commands of earlier, and so it had gnawed at him. 

Jonathan’s face was quietly turned back towards Seward. When he momentarily closed his eyes with a gentle grin, he could still see John’s hungry red ones. Of course he must turn himself over to his betters. His eyes were open, then, but he was not in control. He casually lifted his arm as though to touch the man’s face. He serenely waited for those sharp fangs to rend his flesh. Seward had moved into position, and would take full advantage.

The solicitor could sense the briefest of flutters in the depths of his mind; there was a voice calling his name both within and without, but Seward was stifling his ability to think. His voice was louder, though theirs was more insistent. Hands gripped his forearms, and red eyes he was happier to serve moved in front of him. “Lucy?” He murmured, confused. The pull, however, was great and sought to claim him fully. He tried to move around her before she covered his eyes.

Lucy felt Jonathan's body grow lax even as she filled him with her presence; there he was, now clinging to her like a lifeline. Seward was, for this instant, evicted from his mind. As Jonathan seemed to be returning to them, Lucy hissed wildly over her shoulder. Seward’s eyes widened at the rebuke, even as Mina shoved him backwards without a hint of gentleness to her touch. She wished to break his concentration. They had spotted his fangs emerging; they knew his purpose. Lucy moved Jonathan behind her, and took his hand.

Jonathan was groggy. Abruptly, Mina was on his other side and seeing to his welfare. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders, and still had strength enough to take on Seward if she were so required. Jonathan briefly pressed against her, before he nodded. The coldness of her skin roused him further; it had a restorative effect. “I am freed. He has released me,” he assured her with a raised brow.

He quietly let go of Lucy. “I should not have looked. Of course he is hungry; he just woke up.” He felt Lucy wrap her arm around his waist for a quick cuddle. He smirked even as it left him. Jonathan was enmeshed protectively between them.

Lucy turned her attention away from teasing Jonathan now that she knew he was well. Ah, yes. Dear John Seward, so soon attempting to sully their good deed of resurrecting him. He was practically tasting from the hand that nurtured him. “To make our plans we _need_ him, John. Unchanged.” Lucy’s fangs were sharp and waiting; she smiled despite them, threateningly.

Seward stepped aside and shook himself. He ran his hands through his hair as he sought to focus. “My apologies, Jonathan. My actions were deplorable, Mina; Lucy. That was...out of line, I suppose, but I am quite ravenous. I expect I could last a little while longer. Where might you consider us going? We cannot stay here.” He didn’t want to wait, damn it! How had Mina lasted long enough to drink from his veins?! Perhaps she was simply suitably motivated and distracted from her desperation by casting the net and attempting to reel him in.

“Think nothing of it, Dr Seward. But...as you say, you _do_ still require sustenance. And...I am willing to provide for you in this hour, through my own intent.” He saw the new vampire’s surprise, but he was always willing to serve. It was what he did best. He was wary, of course; that could not be helped in the face of what had just occurred.

Wasn’t Dr Seward soon enough to become a Master for him, as easily as Lucy and Mina were Mistresses? Would it not thus be best to do this, rather than waylay another unsuspecting soul? It would save them time, and reduce the risk of discovery. The women had defended him once following the mildest of suspicion; surely, they could supervise when the risk was known to them.

Lucy stepped closer to Seward, and gave him an appraising look; she nodded, approving of his changes, even if he had almost harmed Jonathan. “You look wonderful, John! I do so love the shade of red in your eyes. It matches that spot of blood that dripped onto your tie when Mina was interrupted.” She meant for her praise to distract the man. Despite Jonathan’s assurances, such actions were uncalled for when the man was already theirs to command.

Seward appeared stupefied by her words, despite his new status. He had been brazen enough to impress his will upon Jonathan. He had been confident enough to flagrantly clutch Mina, but could not handle compliments from this vampire. “You look...ravishing.” He was better at tending to patients and case histories than he was at treating her like the lady he ought to have months ago. He had centuries to rectify that, provided there was no further squabbling.

And, he supposed, rather than correct psychological ailments, now he might call upon the once needy souls he knew and request that they lend him their necks with this newfound ability to pacify and control.

“You spoke of being willing,” Seward pointed out as he broke free from such interesting thoughts. He turned to look at Jonathan. He sought to make his smile less bestial, and more harmless so that the solicitor may not back out of such a negotiation. He couldn’t handle his feelings for Lucy at this minute. They could work out their greater concerns at a later date.

Jonathan knew that it was so. He could be nothing else. “I offer you my blood, Dr Seward, though not too much. I should provide just enough that you might have some control as we see about our business; I have felt as Mina did when the need was greatest. I thought of offering, but then you bid me come closer before I uttered a sound,” he chastised with no heat. “It is my idea now, not yours. Even if I should become yours to command.” He was practically giddy about it.

Mina nodded, and took Lucy’s hand. “ _We_ shall observe the process, John. If we hear Jonathan’s heart struggle, or feel you are going too far in any way, we will break you apart.” Her smile appeared kind to the unsuspecting, although her eyes showed that she would do such literally to him should Jonathan be permanently injured.

“You will not take enough to kill; you will not begin the process of transforming him. You will feel the correct amount if you pay attention,” Lucy assured him. “Jonathan, there is unknowable pleasure stemming from his bite, so you’ll scarcely be able to contain yourself!” Her words were impish, but honest.

Jonathan could hear them through the link, simultaneously telling him to give a shout if he were able. “Truly,” he smiled to himself. It was a desire from before that would now be coming true. Hadn’t he wanted these ladies to bite him? Perhaps, in time, it would be so. 

Seward must be seen to at this crossroads, before he grew unstable; and, of course, if he were observant enough to know when Jonathan was not as he was previously, surely he could see the marker before the body grew too low on needed sustenance. Couldn’t he? Jonathan’s duty was to protect them, and this was part and parcel of that, in his opinion.

“I have much to do as your servant should you leave me alive. The perks of being a solicitor will aid you, but not if I’m dead,” he smiled knowingly as Seward approached. “You will, of course, do as they did and bind us?” Seward turned to the women in consternation, who deflected any questions that might be forthcoming with a look of impatience. “I have but one further question, sir. Is it to be the wrist or the neck?” He should like to know, though he couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was a way of getting one's affairs in order.

Seward was bemused. He almost didn’t know the answer, as he had just awakened. “The neck, for that is what I eyed on dear Mrs Hoskins. It is quite appealing,” he decided at last. Jonathan relaxed, and closed his eyes. Seward pulled the solicitor closer to him, until they were chest to chest; his fangs elongated once more.

Without further ado, he sank them into Jonathan’s throat. While Jonathan gritted his teeth at the sharpness at first, his eyes soon shot open, his mouth agape. He grasped Seward’s shoulder, shaking fingers tight against the cold muscle. He wouldn’t have shoved him away. He wanted to pull him even closer; the pleasure of the experience was enervating and left him reeling, so that he could not find the wherewithal for him to even try to escape.

He heard himself moaning softly, and felt as though he was outside of his body. He could feel that Seward wanted it to continue forever, just as much as he did. While Jonathan felt near to a fainting spell, he found himself smiling with contentment. And then, it was over. Distantly, he perceived Mina and Lucy breaking them up. He practically swooned with exhaustion, and so it should end.

He wanted to complain, but found he couldn’t speak. It was a sensual experience; he had been carried away by the flood of emotion, of sensation. No wonder Mina had sought to experience such with Lucy twice. He found himself briefly putting his head down onto Seward’s chest; he closed his eyes. Then, it felt as though he was floating.

Jonathan opened his eyes, and found it was near to the truth. Seward had him in his arms, and was carrying him to the divan he had recently risen from. Jonathan stretched lazily in his new position before he felt some discomfort. He blinked quickly, and situated himself so that he was not draped, but seated. He shook his head to clear it. When he looked again, Seward had the teapot in his hands, and was in the process of pouring some refreshment from it.

Seward glanced over to him. Some blood still clung to his moustache, despite his best efforts at tidiness. “I take it you’re coherent? I wanted to be assured of such before I acted further.” He waited for a sated nod. “I was informed it was done in this manner, Jonathan.” With that, he cut his palm with a sharp fingernail. He allowed three drops of his blood to fall into the liquid, just to make certain it was enough. 

“And it will cleanse the palate with the tea’s flavour, as well,” Seward guessed further. “The pot has been allowed to reach room temperature, so I warn you it’s not the best.” The women were watching them, though saw that they had the situation well in hand. He chuckled with a predatory edge, even as Jonathan passed a serviette to him and gestured to the missed spot; the solicitor then accepted his cup. “Now, drink; restore yourself to vigour.”

It was a rather domestic scene for a solicitor and a newly-made undead creature. “Thank you,” Jonathan managed. For both the luxurious bite, as well as the cup. He acknowledged when the doctor had successfully wiped himself clean of the blood.

Seward gestured to the cup. “I propose a toast, even if I cannot participate.” He smiled, and though his fangs were no longer out, it looked like they were close. He had taken enough, and had the strength to resist stealing further samples from him. At least for now. “ _Sanguis Vita Est._ ”

As he took the first sip, the Latin phrase gave Jonathan pause. Then, a dark smile emerged. “It would appear we will understand each other from this day forth, Dr Seward. Blood is life,” he translated with an unholy glee that was only tempered with his present weakness. It was what he had stated often enough in the cells. It was their gospel.

“Are you cold?” Seward nonchalantly wondered. Blood loss could do such under normal circumstances. However, these were not normal conditions. The clinical minutiae intrigued him.

“Not at all,” Jonathan expressed. “Your blood warms my body following such a covenant. If I should term it that.” He still felt mildly off-balance, and raised his cup to the housekeeper. Mrs Hoskins could not reciprocate. She would not get to experience a vampire’s bite because of his intervention. He deemed that she was very unlucky indeed. He glanced down; his hands were a bit unsteady, and so he gently placed the cup back into the saucer once it was empty. The blood lacing it soothed him like a balm, so he sensed it wouldn't be for much longer. 

Lucy moved closer and stroked the veins on Jonathan’s wrist. She had sensed his shakiness, and waited for him to give her his full attention. “Now eat the treats _she_ brought for him,” she urged as she gestured towards Mrs Hoskins. “We don’t want you so unsteady as to fall, once the coach is in motion. Where would we find a suitable replacement? Crushing you would upset the horses!”

“Of course,” Jonathan agreed without hesitation. To do otherwise would be to court disaster, just as she implied. Despite such outrageous words, he knew she was only teasing him. He was necessary; he must serve them. He darted forward to snatch a biscuit, and made quick work of it. He touched the bloody mark on his throat lightly, and looked at his hand. There was not so much blood on the wound as he anticipated.

He sighed, for the pleasure had been beyond words; beyond his ken or the ability of any man to describe short of poetry or ballads, and he was not one to try. His eyes widened. All three could be sensed within his mind now, as that diluted offering flared into being. It was growing crowded, before he acclimated. He gave himself another minute or two, before he rose to his feet. They should make haste. “I feel that I am restored to my previous vitality,” he murmured. 

Seward glanced at the women, and noted something of importance. They hadn’t answered him earlier. “Now what is to become of us? I suspected Glebe, but was I right? Or must we all go to the crypt, and cast out your ancestors from their coffins, Lucy?” It drew a laugh from her, and did not insult, he was heartened to discover.

Mina stepped forward to provide information to Seward before he could fret and drive himself and them to distraction. She looked Jonathan over. In her opinion, he was not too pale. “Come the morning, we sleep in Glebe House. You certainly recall the forgery of a letter penned by the Count, dear John? It caused our thought of Prague, following the castle. Perhaps we might find a suitable climate in which to thrive in that city, after a momentary layover in the realm Jonathan knows best.”

Seward nodded, glad to know they would not just be easy prey when the Professor returned. As, of course, he would. It was inevitable. Munich would not detain that man forever. He gleaned from the new connection that Jonathan would get the train tickets and, perhaps, book passage on a ship while they slumbered. He was an excellent servant.

“To Transylvania, and a time of waking dreams,” Mina said as she clasped hands first with Jonathan, and then with John and Lucy. The circle should not be broken. She felt that it was a fitting toast, even if the others did not know the origin of such a romantic and silly notion. They could not drown. They would not be lost.

“To centuries yet to come,” Lucy added. “For all of us,” she added, looking at Jonathan. She wished him to become as they were in a year yet to come. Before that time could reach them, they would have to locate another suitable daytime protector. For now, Jonathan was the best they had to hand.

Jonathan moved ahead of them, and descended the front steps without hesitation. There was enough of a break in the mist that he wouldn’t fall in earnest. While he wasn’t weak, he was a tad fatigued; it wasn’t enough to put a dent in his enthusiasm. He glanced over his shoulder. The vampires moved as one for the carriage; Jonathan quickly mounted the driver’s seat. He glanced down to the animals as their noises reached his ears.

From his higher position, he quietly began stroking the dark stallions' manes as the three passed and climbed aboard. Always the horses startled, and whinnied, agitated when the unnatural drew too close for their comfort. However, with him up there, Jonathan could at least rein them in. They wouldn’t bolt, and leave everyone stranded. He smiled as the fog began to disperse. He was easily able to direct the horses down the path. Glebe House awaited them.

Jonathan was made to be their coachman; he was made to be many things for them. He would do his best to serve them. For tonight, and however many nights there were to come. Any promises as to a future glory would be discounted by him as merely idle talk until such time as he was ready for further bites. 

Mrs Hoskins would revive soon after their departure, believing she had dozed off. Only when Van Helsing’s letters went unanswered in a few months’ time would the man grow suspicious as to his protege’s fate. Only when another month had passed just to be certain the post was not slow, would he return to Whitby to investigate. He would find an asylum run by another man, lest Seward’s patients be abandoned.

Nobody would have any answers for the good Professor. Nobody had been bitten; the housekeeper still flourished in the peak of health, though worried for her employer being away so long. Still, the Professor would persist. Gradually, he would hear tales of greater vampire activity from the region through which Jonathan had once passed. It was to be expected when the three of the castle still existed, so that could be discounted.

He would not dream of considering Prague. With Jonathan’s sources to aid them across the Continent, they were not brought to ground at once. In time, Professor Van Helsing would wander close to where they briefly set up camp. Upon the evening that Jonathan directed their gazes to the unknowing man’s presence, they chose to act.

Their once mentioned ruse of using Jonathan to play the wounded lamb, ill-used and lost and wanting succour would be broached and given serious consideration. They could have used such a ploy to thereby draw Van Helsing in before they struck. The topic was weighed and found wanting as they, at last, passed judgement and ruled it to be too risky.

One never knew if the Professor had other allies that were waiting for the man at an agreed upon time and location. They couldn’t say if they had already been discovered and traps laid down. Instead of being slain, they chose a better way. They selected a craftier way, in case others waited for a signal caused by such an act.

They dared not bite him, should something holy flow through his veins. They grew cunning. Instead, the Professor was enthralled. Having deflected the Count’s attempt once, it worked with the strength and power of three vampires. He was induced to temporarily forget that Seward was ever his protege, at least for time enough that they could move anew to bloodier pastures where none suspected their intentions.

When it wore off, however, he would redouble his efforts to track them down. They would relish their state of being, as they tried not to draw undue attention to their activities in the coming years.

They would outlive the man that was hounding them.

Above all, they would thrive.

_The End_

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks must go out to Sean for beta reading this, as more and more was added.
> 
> The title and a couple moments were inspired by a line in a poem. _I Am_ , by John Clare
> 
> Yes, that is Quincey Morris as a carriage driver for the Weston household, imported from the novel. Joseph Smollet, the driver that takes everyone from the graveyard, has the same origin. Over there, he was one of the guys carting the boxes of earth to Carfax, whom Renfield attacks.
> 
> Lucy's response of "Not the devil; never that" was inspired by a moment in Dracula (1979).
> 
> A moment at the end of chapter 2 was inspired by a toast that Lucy recited in Dracula (1931). From the movie: "Lofty timbers, the walls around are bare, echoing to our laughter as though the dead were there... Quaff a cup to the dead already, hooray for the next to die."
> 
> The Munich _Leichenhaus_ was referenced in Stoker’s original notes as a place that Jonathan would go prior to the castle. He would have seen a dead man that he then finds out went missing. That man would have been Dracula. 
> 
> There are likely other Dracula references from other versions. If you can find them all, kudos to you.


End file.
